


The Ghost Network

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: The Ghost Network [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-14
Updated: 2010-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone has been killing people involved in sleep labs. As part of the Sleep Crimes Unit of the FBI, Ariadne has to help track down the Dream Killer. Things go very wrong very fast, and she's exactly in the last place she wants to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Entering The Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the inception_kink meme prompt: [Serial killer or Assassin Arthur, victim or FBI agent Ariadne, and Stockholm Syndrome.](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/7339.html?thread=11789995#t11789995) It's an AU fic, folks, but I tried to keep them as IC as possible!
> 
> Also written for the "wild card" box on my [hc_bingo](http://community.livejournal.com/hc_bingo/) card.

_In the middle of the journey of my life,  
I found myself at a place where the straight road had been lost sight of._  
Dante Aligheri

"This is going to _suck,"_ Ariadne said, looking around the bullpen. It was in constant motion, as it usually was, but she could feel dozens of eyes tracking her movements as she walked through it. The main reason for that was Inspector Eames walking beside her, as well as the knowledge that this case she was working on was international.

"Darling," Eames drawled, lips drawn back into an amused smile. "I do love those Americanisms you insist on using. It won't be that terrible."

"Of course it will," Ariadne replied, grasping the handle to the conference room. "The SAC would never use the conference room unless there was a new development. And he did _not_ sound like he was in a good mood."

The smile on Eames' face slid right off when he took in the somber faces of the rest of the Sleep Crimes Unit. "Oh, dear. Something's happened."

"Do sit down," Special Agent in Charge Dominic Cobb said, pointing to an empty portion of the conference table. "I've just received word from Ainsworth, Nebraska. It looks like there was an underground sleep lab there, and its director is dead. The MO matches our UNSUB."

Ariadne's heart sank. This definitely was not good news.

"This brings our tally to fifteen known deaths in the United States alone, six in the UK and possibly more that Interpol won't release to us." Dominic leaned forward slightly, gazing at each agent in turn. "The UNSUB is _laughing at us."_

Ariadne ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach and accepted the piece of gum that Eames pushed across the table at her. They had been working together for nearly three weeks at that point, and she felt like she had known him for three lifetimes. He was easy to talk to about things outside the job as well. She was aware that most of the other agents in the bullpen assumed that the two of them were sleeping together. He liked to play off of those rumors because he found it amusing, though he had always been unfailingly polite and professional in the Hoover building. The only reason they had been stuck together from the start was that Ariadne was the newest recruit to the SCU, and that by default meant she got the tasks no one else wanted.

There wasn't anything that seemed to point to a particular rhyme or reason to how sleep labs were picked. Some were legitimate, some were not, some danced across the border of legalities by offering legal and illegal somnacin use. However the targets were chosen, they were kidnapped from their homes without any sign of entry or forensic evidence left behind. Within a week, they were found in a public park nearest to their place of business. There was a single shot to the head made by a 9 mm Glock, with old ligature marks on wrists and ankles as if the victim had been tied tightly to a chair. Puncture wounds from multiple needles were found all along the inside forearms of the victims, as well as an elegantly carved MEA CULPA across the chest. The carving had been done before death, as there was usually a copious amount of blood present on the clothing of the victim. No matter how many times the bodies were analyzed, there was never any forensic evidence to be found.

Their UNSUB was a ghost, and there was no pattern to the choice in victim other than the fact that they were sleep lab directors. There were thousands of sleep labs across the country, possibly even tens of thousands of illegal labs. With the advent of somnacin and the PASIV, it was easy enough to delve into dreams. Most legitimate labs restricted use for therapy, treatment of night terrors, sleep disorders or the occasional recreational use. With highly trained specialists, memory retrieval could aid in investigations. With underground labs, anything went. Some of them were rather decent, treating the same problems that legal labs did, but without the exorbitant proprietary fees involved in the use of somnacin and the machinery. Some of them were downright unsavory, and there were plenty of users on the black market. It was partly why the SCU was so necessary; there were similar teams in different governments all over the world to fight just that sort of crime.

SAC Cobb was currently in charge of a joint team involving agents from Violent Crimes Unit as well as the SCU. The SCU was very small, only five agents. They needed to work with VCU for their expertise in profiling criminal minds, as this was clearly a serial killer. Inspector Eames was a profiler of sorts with Scotland Yard, and apparently he had known Cobb's father-in-law, Stephen Miles. Ariadne had been recommended by Professor Miles specifically for the SCU because of the facility she had picked up dreaming skills in her training at Quantico. She hadn't known that Professor Miles was Cobb's father-in-law, as Miles had never mentioned it. Ariadne had figured it out during her interview with Cobb. It was hard to miss the pictures of Miles, Mallorie Miles-Cobb and Cobb on his desk. There were also photos of their two children, Phillipa and James, though Ariadne had never met them and never asked about them. She knew that Mallorie was a pathologist that worked for the FBI as well, but she generally tried to keep out of office politics. It had been intimidating enough to realize that Miles thought she was that gifted a dreamer, that skilled in the self defense techniques that the classes tried to instill.

Of course, the additional talent she seemed to have was the ability to always know when she was dreaming, even without a totem. That was an innate skill, Miles had said, and something that was impossible to teach. Ariadne had one anyway, but she never had to check it. It hung on her keyring as if it was an ordinary key chain, but only she knew how it was supposed to feel in the real world vs. the dreamscape.

The team discussed what they knew so far about this UNSUB, dubbed the Dream Killer by one of the VCU staff. Their profiler and Eames agreed on many points in their profile: white male, lived alone, had likely been a subject of abuse himself in the past. From there, the profiles differed. The VCU agent felt that the Dream Killer was motivated by anger at the sleep labs, and was trying to make a statement against them and the somnacin development teams in particular. There were many fringe groups that felt dreams should not be altered in any way, and that this was going down a slippery slope until all of humanity was stripped away. Eames believed this was motivated by revenge, that there was a cold calculation in how the directors were killed. Eames believed that their UNSUB was a patient of these sleep labs, and that whatever his illness was could not be cured by the treatments. In anger, he was killing the directors.

Personally, Ariadne thought Eames' theory was more sound.

The only problem with both theories was that there was no overlap across any of the victims. None of the victim profiles seemed to match in anything other than their involvement in a sleep lab of some kind. There were no similarities between types or size of labs, or even treatment specialties. None of the patient lists matched, and even looking for potential assumed names had been a needle in a haystack. There had been no apparent timetable; most of the killings had been discovered after the fact, when local authorities had given up and asked the FBI for help. It was only after carefully combing through records that they could identify all the killings that carried the same earmarks as the Dream Killer. That didn't eliminate the possibility of earlier killings, as rituals always evolved over time and could change even as they searched for him. Known victims dated back over five years; both the VCU profiler and Eames supposed that the Dream Killer had been doing this for years prior to that.

"Inspector, Agent, a word." Cobb motioned at Ariadne and Eames as the meeting came to an end. "You're planning to head to Nebraska," he said, not really asking a question.

"We're planning to re-interview everyone at the scene," Ariadne affirmed. They had done this after the latest New York killing, as well as the one in Portland. Neither had yielded extra information that was helpful, but it had eliminated the local police forces' suspects from their search. Ariadne still considered it almost wasted effort.

Cobb nodded. They were alone in the conference room, and Ariadne watched him run his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I don't have to tell you that the AD is on my back about this. He thinks that this makes us look bad, even if it's not publicly discussed as much as the war efforts or terrorism. This is still domestic terrorism of a sort. Or international terrorism," he corrected, looking at Eames. "I had a call from Scotland Yard this morning, Inspector. They're still willing to let you stay to help with this case, but they're getting frustrated on their end as well. There's been a copycat, sloppy work they could tell wasn't our guy. They want to be able to nail somebody to the wall to put an end to this."

"Of course, sir," Ariadne said with a stiff nod.

"We've been working our arses off, but the Dream Killer's a professional. He's smart, very smart. He's stepped up his timetable recently," Eames mused. "He's bound to make a mistake that we'll be able to use."

Cobb's tension eased somewhat, though he still seemed keyed up. "I know the two of you work well as a team. See what you can find in Nebraska and bring this bastard in."

***

Nash was a squirrelly looking man that seemed altogether too nervous to see an FBI agent and Scotland Yard Inspector at his place of business. The locals of course were aware at this point that he had been helping provide a location for the illegal sleep lab, so there was no opposition from townsfolk in pointing out the new warehouse his shipping business was located in. He said all the right things, heaping the blame on the dead man for the illegal lab. "He was my friend, you know? He asks for a place to stay and keep some stuff, and I wasn't about to say no," Nash said, his voice a whine. He combed his hand through his hair, which already looked spiky from prior pulls. "I mean, I don't ask him what he does, I don't ask what his stuff is. I just gave him a place to keep it. You know, a warehouse and all that. I had space to spare for him. I mean, I never really charged rent."

"I've noticed," Eames began in a pleasant tone, "that folk telling me they mean something usually mean quite the opposite. Have you ever noticed that?" he asked Nash.

Nash's eyes flicked between Ariadne and Eames. For a split second, it seemed like he looked past them, and then he shook his head quickly. "Uh, no. But you know, I work a lot."

"Shipping, Mr. Nash?" Ariadne asked, checking her little notepad. She had known that. She checked downward so she could see his reaction through her eyelashes, could try to track where his eyes went. Her senses were screaming at her that he was still a liar and a thief and there was something off about him.

He didn't relax in the slightest. "Yeah. I ship stuff. You know, in and out of the state. People coming and going all the time, you know? I have to stay on top of 'em, make sure it all runs smooth." His eyes flickered slightly.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Nash?" Eames asked. "You look almost ill."

"Oh. No, no, I'm fine, really. Just... I talked to the cops already. It's hard to believe that Manny's dead, you know? Killed that way? It's such a shame. Makes you wonder what sick freak does that kind of shit." He flushed and glanced at Ariadne. "Sorry, ma'am."

She gave him a mirthless smile. "I assure you, I've heard worse."

"Was there anything unusual in Mandeep's behavior before he disappeared?" Eames asked, pen poised over his own notebook. "I'm sure in retrospect there must be something."

Nash's eyes definitely flicked behind them as he answered, toward the wall with the bookcase. "N-no. I can't think of a thing. I mean, he was a busy guy, you know? In and out and doing his thing, not really meeting up much. He wasn't much of a beer and pretzels kinda guy, you know?"

"No, Mr. Nash," Ariadne murmured, turning around. "I didn't know the man. Is there something on the bookcase that's worrying you?"

"You seem awfully troubled by something," Eames added, watching his expression carefully as Ariadne stepped forward to examine the bookcase.

"No!" Nash said, taking a half step forward. "I mean, no, I'm fine. Nothing doing. But lookit, I got my business to run..."

The bookcase held mostly shipping manuals, catalogs for Staples and various machine shops in the area. There was one book bound in red leather that appeared worn and well read. It had no title on its spine, and Ariadne reached out to touch the book.

"Listen!" Nash said, his voice a trifle too sharp and loud. "I'm trying to do a legit business deal around here, and I can't have feds come in and asking stuff the cops did. It makes the people nervous..."

"You seem to be very nervous," Eames remarked, observing sweat break out on Nash's brow. He lofted an eyebrow at the man. "Is there something wrong? I would have assumed you wanted Mandeep's killer to be brought to justice.

The book didn't move, but it felt as though something shifted when she tugged on it. Ariadne pulled harder and there was a definite click that made Nash freeze in place. "I wonder what this is," Ariadne murmured. She looked around the bookcase and saw a seam in the wall. She stared at Nash. "Care to explain, Mr. Nash?"

"Look, Manny's been gone almost a month now," Nash began, nervously licking his lips. "It's not like you can just toss 'em back into their lives like nothing happened."

Eames pulled the bookcase, which was mounted against the inset door in the wall. "And I assume that this was the same bookcase from pictures of the prior crime scene?"

"What else was I gonna do?" Nash nearly wailed as Ariadne headed into the doorway. It was a landing for stairs leading downward, and she led the way, her hand on her service weapon.

It was another illegal sleep lab.

There were five sleepers hooked up to machines. They weren't the simple PASIV devices that police had confiscated the month before from the prior illegal lab, but fully actualized dream machines. There was a man of Indian descent behind a row of laptops, with one large computer server and large monitor at his side. He appeared to be monitoring each of the five sleepers, and was startled by the appearance of Ariadne and Eames.

"Oh, dear," he murmured. He made no move to get up from the monitors. "Is there something I can help you with?" he asked in cultured tones.

They introduced themselves, but the man didn't seem to be perturbed in the slightest. "Isn't running a lab dangerous in these times?" Eames asked, stepping forward as Ariadne went to inspect the five sleepers.

"Well, a place already hit once won't likely be hit again. And I keep my ear out for news on the network," the man said, leaning back a little. "I assume Nash is in serious trouble."

"Very much so," Ariadne said, straightening and coming forward. "You are?"

"Yusuf," the man said with a smile, extending his hand for a shake. Eames did so, and tipped back one of the laptops, curious to see what was on it. "Careful. I need to keep an eye on that while they're sleeping."

"You're awfully calm about all this," Ariadne remarked.

"Not my first bust, unfortunately," Yusuf admitted with a shrug. "But I'm not the organization guy, so I tend to get a slap on the wrist."

"What's your role in all this, then?" Eames asked, gesturing toward all of the computers. They appeared to be readouts of various things that pulsed and had wavelengths.

"I'm the chemist," Yusuf replied easily enough. "I make the somnacin cocktails, I tinker with things. I'm the one that adjusts the dosing and makes sure they go in on time and out on time. My cousin Mandeep used to do this job."

Eames stilled. "Mandeep Kapoor. As in, the man that was recently killed." Yusuf nodded. "We thought he was the director?"

Yusuf snorted. "Mandeep is a lousy organizer. Nah, that was Nash pushing that bullshit. He was the chemist, and did a piss poor job of it, too. I kept telling him to make sure his lines were clean and the needles on stock, and that he couldn't just go out to party, but he was a player, that one." The annoyance in his voice faded. "I suppose it wasn't a surprise when Nash called me in to replace him. Mandeep was a loser."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Eames murmured. "Were you close?"

"He lived in fucking _Nebraska._ Hell, no." Yusuf shook his head and chuckled at something he remembered. "Couldn't hack it in LA."

"But you were able to fly here and replace him?" Ariadne asked with a confused air.

Yusuf shrugged. "This life... You don't easily leave it behind. I tried, believe me I did. I mean, LA has plenty of opportunities to go legit. All the rock stars and movie stars think it's such a trip to go into dreams and do crazy shit. I made money hand over fist until they busted me the last time. I've been disbarred from the profession, but once a chemist, always a chemist." He shook his head ruefully. "Besides. There's some actual good in it, even if we don't pay the fucking crazy overhead to the government. Just because they developed the somnacin in the first place doesn't mean it's any good. I mean, hell, I've developed better, cleaner versions of the stuff. The old shit was _terrible._ But the government's a monopoly, so no point for them to improve the formula, right? I do a good job. I take it seriously, and I've had some good successes. Less chance of the patients coming out of it with a hangover or feeling like they were hit in the face." He took in Ariadne's pale face. "You feeling okay?"

"You mentioned a network," Ariadne said, changing topic.

"Well, yeah. The Ghost Network." He looked at their blank faces. "Nobody's told you guys about it yet, have they?"

"You're the most forthcoming person we've dealt with," Eames admitted with a gracious smile.

"We could see what we can do about offering protection, if you're afraid of reprisals," Ariadne said seriously.

There was a soft beep from one of the computers. Yusuf immediately turned his attention to that laptop. "Excuse me," he said distractedly, fingers beginning to fly across the keyboard. The corresponding sleeper started to stir and stretch on the cot behind Eames and Ariadne, then yawned and sat up. Yusuf got up and went to the sleeper, talking in a low tone of voice. "Talia. How are you feeling?"

The middle aged woman smiled at Yusuf. "Much better, Yusuf, thank you. I saw my mother today, and we were able to have tea. I haven't done that in _years."_

Yusuf smiled. "And told her all about your granddaughter, I'm sure," he said, patting her hand. He smoothly disengaged the needle and cleansed the area before putting on a sterile bandage to cover the entry site. "All right. You're all set for today. I don't think you're going to be able to make more appointments, though."

Talia frowned. "But I've paid through the month for the sessions..."

"There's trouble, Miss Talia."

"Ah, there's always trouble," she sniffed, rising to her feet. "Nash can't keep a secret to save his fucking life," she grumbled. "Very well, then. Thank you for being so helpful."

Eames and Ariadne had watched the interchange, amused. They had never really seen an illegal lab in action, and a middle aged woman having tea with her mother in a dream hardly seemed like the national disaster that propaganda made it out to be. "Well, that was definitely one happy customer," Eames remarked as Yusuf went back to his workstation.

"Like I said. There's a point to these places." The next laptop beeped. "Excuse me. It's going to be a mass exodus in a moment. You'd best wait by the computer banks."

They watched as he repeated the same routine with each sleeper; their wakings were staggered by two minutes to allow for proper removal of each set of needles. It was fascinating to see how professional he was, in some ways more so than the professionals were. Eames noticed Ariadne's eyes looking everywhere, taking in every last detail regarding the setup. She seemed almost agitated by it, and he made a mental note to ask her about it in the hotel later. They had single rooms next to each other at the hotel, and usually worked in one of them until it was time to fall asleep. She always had her hair scraped back into a tight bun at the back of her neck, so it made her wide eyes look that much larger. Perhaps she thought it made her look more professional, but it also seemed to heighten her youthful appearance.

She was all brisk professional when the last of the sleepers left the room. "You were talking about a network," she began.

Yusuf nodded. "This will count on my record, right? That I'm cooperating? It helped me avoid prison the last time around." He started shutting down all of the computers and removed the first one from the bank of connected laptops. "This one is mine," he said unnecessarily. He put it into a messenger bag and faced the two agents. "Nash is probably long gone by now."

"Police will find him, I'm sure," Ariadne replied. "It's a fairly small town."

"True enough." He was an agreeable sort, and they wound up doing the questioning in the local police precinct. They collected Nash and the equipment from the illegal lab to prosecute him. As Yusuf was now considered a federal witness, the local police would only get a summary of their report after the fact to support their case against Nash.

"It's called the Ghost Network because there's a static server to log into that finds where the floating server is. I don't know all the details," Yusuf said, holding up a hand. "I have a Ph.D. in pharmacology, chemistry and biochemistry but I don't know shit about the back end of computer networks. I know enough to use them and replace cards in my computer, but that's about it. The underground has access to it by word of mouth. You need to be invited into the network, and the invite's from a superuser named Ghost. With the invite, you create a login and then you can access the network. It's a lot of stuff, mostly for us in the business." Yusuf drummed his fingers restlessly on top of his messenger bag. "It's like any other forum, I suppose. There's areas to chat about your expertise, how to set up shops, that sort of thing. Complaints about assholes in the business, how to get around the law, whatever floats your boat. It's a free for all."

He took a sip of the water that was provided to him and stared at his bag for a moment. "We heard about the deaths maybe three years ago. An extractor—"

"A what?"

"There are teams that go into minds sometimes," Yusuf explained patiently. "Sometimes they take memories out, or copy them. Those are extractors. Well, one had been working with Gregory Ostlewaithe on the side in London. That guy was the one that first clued us in that something bad was going on in the business."

Ariadne and Eames exchanged a glance. Ostlewaithe was one of the UK murders that was still unsolved. He had been the director of one of the official clinics in Surrey, but circumstances regarding his murder had been suppressed at the time. His name wasn't part of any US investigation. At least, not publicly.

"Most of us didn't think anything of it. You know, just a fluke. But they kept turning up. All these dead assholes, legit and not, and it was just eerie. It was like someone was _watching_ us and knew what was happening in the community."

"It's a community?" Eames asked, startled.

"Sort of. Like every other loose knit community on the internet," Yusuf replied with a smile. "You know how it goes. Someone has a falling out with one guy, some chick creates drama, sends the boards into a tizzy. But these reports of dead guys and women in the field? It was more than just drama and making trouble."

"Can you go back and pull up a list of everyone on this network?" Ariadne asked, curious.

"If this place has wifi I can tap into, sure."

The police station allowed him access to their secure server at Ariadne's request, and he was able to cross reference all of the posts that caught his eye over the past three years. It was amazing how the message board looked like any other. Yusuf poked through several sections, looking for news and any reports of more missing workers. "Nothing yet. The last was my cousin."

Every single name Yusuf had found had been on their list.

"So the common thread between them was that they were all assholes?" Eames asked, amused.

Yusuf laughed a little awkwardly. "Well, they didn't do their jobs. They abused their positions of power in some way. Don't get me wrong, I loved my cousin and tried to help him out and got him into being a chemist. But he didn't really have the temperament for it. Someone reported him having sex with one of the sleepers on the boards, saying that it got hushed up because Nash gave her money back and then some. I asked him about it once I saw the post, and he denied ever doing it. But I know my cousin, and I think it was true."

Ariadne turned her pale face to Eames' with a grim expression. "I think we have our motive and opportunity."

***  
***


	2. Building The Maze

Yusuf was given a certain amount of leeway as a consultant with the SCU. Cobb managed to finesse it so that the charges against him didn't stick, and he was signed on as an official FBI consultant. He had to remain in the DC area and refrain from any further work in illegal sleep labs, but he was able to begin work with Stephen Miles at Quantico. That gave him more than enough opportunity to ply his trade as a chemist and tinker with his versions of somnacin. Miles seemed to like him well enough, and there was some talk about how he was willing to help Yusuf get grants to tailor the somnacin formula.

"So a happy ending goes to the turncoat," Eames commented to Ariadne with a slight smirk. "We have a bit more information than we had before, but I'm willing to bet my entire hotel stipend that Yusuf's information will dry up soon."

"As soon as they realize he's gone legit, you mean," Ariadne murmured. Eames nodded. "I've thought of it. I've been logging in from home after hours under his login. I've been looking for anything that might fit the profile to go after. Nothing yet."

"This definitely explains the gaps in between killings."

"I was thinking about putting in a false complaint to trap the UNSUB," Ariadne began slowly. "But that would compromise Yusuf on the network, and it would expose our interest in it if they realize it's us."

"Then the floating server gets pulled." Eames sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Fucking brilliant, he is. Annoying as bloody hell, to be sure."

"I almost mentioned my plan to Cobb this morning."

"So why didn't you tell him?"

"He'd jump on it in a heartbeat. He wouldn't even think about Yusuf's well being or if it even worked. I feel responsible for this. I dragged Yusuf out of his little hidey hole, you know?"

Eames laughed. "Oh, darling. You're such a dear heart, I wonder how you even got into this mess." Ariadne shrugged, but there was a vague sense of the uncomfortable about her. He sobered instantly. "I didn't mean anything by it, if you don't feel comfortable enough to tell me."

Ariadne shook her head. "It's not that. I _do_ trust you. I wouldn't even react like that if I was around anyone else." It was quiet in the SCU area, and no one else was in earshot. "I was put under as a kid. The somnacin made me sick."

Eames could tell there was more to the story but didn't press. "I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean to trigger anything."

She flashed him a smile. "Oh, don't be like that. I'm fine. I mean, it's part of my psych profile and everything. They're aware of it." Ariadne shrugged. "I think that's why they referred me to the SCU. I know my way around the dreamscape really well. I can always tell when something's real, even going in blind."

He looked impressed. "I didn't even know that was possible without a totem."

"Well, apparently they couldn't lose me to the general population because of that." She flashed Eames an impish smile, which went far in convincing him that she was truly fine. "Maybe we should talk to Yusuf first. If he's willing, we can talk to Cobb about it."

"Sounds like a plan. You pitch it. I'm the interloper around these parts," he said, giving her a charming smile.

Yusuf of course was willing to try. For someone that wasn't supposed to go into the field, he was willing to see what it was like to be an agent. Just as Ariadne had suspected, Cobb jumped at the chance to spring a trap for the Dream Killer. One of the senior SCU agents would pose as the sleep lab director Yusuf was complaining about. After that, it should only be a matter of time.

***

Ariadne hit the button on her alarm to shut it off. It was 5:30 am, and she stretched. She got ready for her morning run, then walked down from her fourth floor apartment. That helped warm her up a bit, and she did a few stretches in the stairwell before hitting the sidewalk and beginning to run. She liked running early in the morning. It helped to clear her head a bit, and listening to music helped the time to pass. She generally ran for about forty minutes or so, getting back to her apartment by 6:30 am. She had invited Eames along to go running, but the Brit had goggled at her as if she was insane. "I'm a pumpkin until 9 am and that's _with_ coffee, darling," he had teased with a smile. "No, keep your running to yourself."

She tended to vary the route she took, and found her mind wandering as she ran. It had been a month since Yusuf had posted his message. Agent Robert Fischer had posed as the corrupt sleep lab employee, and they had even converted a seized illegal lab into Fischer's workspace. Yusuf had coached him on what his role would be as front man, and Fischer was more than able to pull off the cold and callous behavior that Yusuf had described in his post. Cobb was getting antsy, and they were going to have to meet Assistant Director Saito soon if their ploy didn't pan out. AD Saito didn't like the idea of failed jobs, though he was willing to write off the expense of the cover lab. They had even taken on a handful of sleepers for Fischer to care for, so that other posts could back up Yusuf's on the Ghost Network.

Still, no sign that Fischer was being watched, let alone about to be picked up by their UNSUB.

Ariadne hit the button to take the elevator back up to her apartment. She usually took the stairs, but she had run a little harder than usual that morning. "Hey!" came a voice behind her. "Hold the door!"

She stuck her arm out so that the ancient elevator wouldn't close before the man behind her could get in. He was carrying two heavy shopping bags with groceries, and flashed her a grateful smile as he slid into the elevator beside her. She didn't recognize him, but she didn't know all of her neighbors. She hit the 4 button for her own apartment. "What floor?" she asked, turning to him.

"Six," he said. "Thanks. I was hoping to get some stuff done early."

Ariadne nodded. "I haven't seen you around before," she said after a moment.

He was a clean cut sort of man, with short, well groomed hair, brown eyes and an easy smile. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt and beige slacks. "I'm staying with my friend for a while. I was thinking of going back to school, so he's letting me get a feel for the neighborhood."

"That's nice of him." The elevator doors pinged. "That's me. Good luck with school."

"Thanks," he replied with a smile, watching as she turned left.

There were five apartments on each floor, their entrances arranged in a semicircle around the main elevator bank. That narrowed her apartment down to one of two. She left her apartment approximately an hour later, dressed in a dark gray pantsuit and low heels, her hair tied in a tight bun instead of loose and messy ponytail. Watching from the stairwell, he missed the flamboyance in her step. She was calm and controlled now, every inch a serious businesswoman with a laptop bag. She took the elevator back downstairs and left for the day.

He removed the lock pick kit from inside the box of cereal he had hidden it in and eased on a well worn pair of black leather gloves. It was easy enough to take care of her door; this was an old building, with mediocre security. He stood inside her domain once he shut the door behind him, breathing in the scent of her. He kept his eyes closed, absorbing the feel of his surroundings. He opened his eyes after a moment to add the visuals. Calm, peaceful, with crisp and clean lines in the sitting room. There was a small plant on a table near the window, with little red flowers in it for a pop of color. There was a low table near the front door, likely for keys or to rest her bag or mail when she came home. The counter top in the kitchen was clean, a bowl and spoon soaking in the sink along with a glass. The counter top in the bathroom had various bottles and makeup items on it, though most were in a little mesh container to keep things neat. He most definitely approved of that, and took out his notebook. He noted brands and shades of the foundation bottles before checking on her shampoo and toiletries.

Ariadne wasn't the type to make her bed in the morning. The covers were thrown back and the pillow still had the indent of her head in it. He bent over and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her. There was a vague order in her closet, so that similar kinds of clothing were hung together. There was no rhyme or reason to the colors there, though most of the suits and dress pants were in darker shades. She would look so very much like a corporate clone in any of those suits. The only color in her outfit would be the blouses or scarves she wore along with her suits, though apparently she didn't usually wear scarves to work. He touched the fabric of one, liking the feel of it between his fingers. He made note of that, as well as sizes and her color preferences. Her shoes were lined up neatly at the bottom of her closet, except for her running shoes. Those looked as though they had been tossed aside or kicked off so she could shower after her run. There was a hamper in the corner of the bedroom, nearly full. She would likely go to the basement laundry room soon.

He was tempted to take something from her closet or from her dresser, once he rifled through that. He knew better, however. He hadn't gotten this far by being sloppy.

He carefully let himself out of the apartment and picked the lock shut behind him. Altogether, today was a productive day.

***

AD Saito was not a happy man. He had worked his way up the ranks, and was comfortably in control of several departments. He fully expected work to be done and reports handed in on time. It was neater that way, like a well oiled machine running smoothly. He liked creating order out of chaos, and the former AD had been a creature of chaos. He had terrific output from the agents working under him, and he subtly influenced the Director on occasion without needing to take responsibility for the Director's failings. The Director wasn't nearly as good at running things as Saito was, and would likely retire soon. That would leave Saito as the most likely replacement. Thinking about that made him happy; there were more divisions and units that needed a firm hand to guide them and make sure the details were all taken care of.

Today, however, he was not a happy man.

Six weeks after planting a false post on the Ghost Network and setting up an illegal sleep lab that they monitored, there was still no sign of their Dream Killer. Agent Fischer diligently did his job, being nasty and condescending to the sleepers, insulting their need for the dreaming. Though other agents tailed him, there was no sign that anyone else was doing so.

"I don't think he's mean enough," Yusuf admitted when Saito had calmly and firmly asked what was going wrong with the plan. He generally didn't raise his voice; his presence was usually more than enough to inspire loyalty and devotion to service.

"What do you mean?" Saito asked. Cobb looked ready to yell and lay the blame at Yusuf's feet. Honestly, this was why Cobb wouldn't rise beyond SAC level. He was able to bully his agents to do a better job, but very few were actually inspired by him. He was a man obsessed with completing the mission, all too willing to tread on others to get what he wanted or needed. Saito had met his wife once, and she was much more understanding and mild mannered than Cobb usually gave her credit for.

"The ones I sort of knew about on the Network were more than just dicks," he said, using blunt language to get his point across. He had realized early on that Saito was perhaps a bit more cultured in language than Cobb, but Yusuf didn't feel like dancing around it. "My cousin _molested_ a girl he was supposed to be helping. Henry Alton went into a man's dreams to sodomize him. Michelle Grey tortured a family while she had them under sedation because they couldn't afford the fees. Being a dick to your customers is _nothing_ compared to what these people did."

It was silent in the conference room, and Ariadne looked at her hands clutched tightly in her lap. Yusuf had a point, though no one wanted to be the one to ask Fischer to cross any lines for this.

"We'll have to create a victim," Ariadne said quietly. "We can't subject someone innocent to that kind of thing, and he won't believe it unless there's actual harm." She could feel Eames' eyes on her. Cobb had this intense look on his face, and she suddenly regretted her words.

Saito sighed. "I would never ask anyone in this room to undertake risk that I am not willing to undergo as well." He steepled his fingers in front of his face, elbows perched on the desk. The SCU agents didn't often interact with him, but the VCU ones did. They knew this was his thinking pose. "We should have multiple agents in this role. I will assist as necessary. I can't tell you enough how important it is that we get this under control. Older murders were easily brushed off. Our killer has had much experience in working his craft. This is no easy thing, to become the perfect snare for him."

"The SCU team should be the one to go under," Cobb said in even tones. "We have the experience necessary to tolerate the dreaming, and we would know what to look for if he goes into the dreams."

"We don't even know if he has to," Eames interjected. "If he goes by reports on the Network—"

"We would have caught him already," Cobb said icily, cutting off Eames' objection. "He must be personally investigating these places before deciding if it's worth his time and effort." He looked around the room, letting that sink in. "We're going to have to go in as if we're sleepers, as if we're trying to get these treatments."

"There's nothing that says the Dream Killer was in any of those clinics," Eames insisted. "We have found nothing in common regarding any of the patient profiles, addresses, payment methods, nothing. You could be putting your entire team at risk for nothing."

"There's no risk if Yusuf is the one dosing the somnacin," Cobb replied stiffly. "As he keeps saying, his stuff is better than government grade."

Of course all eyes swung toward Yusuf, who shrugged nonchalantly. "It does what it says on the tin," he replied. "Less gastrointestinal issues, less hangover. It's still somnacin and it's still heavy sedation. Same risks apply."

"Hardly serious risks," Cobb replied with a dismissive wave. "We're all trained in dreaming defense, evasion and attack. We'd be in a safe facility and Fischer wouldn't seriously damage any one of us. I understand the concern," he added when Yusuf and Eames both opened their mouths to speak. "It would be minimal in this case."

"Then it is agreed," Saito said, drawing the meeting to a close. "We will start Monday."

Everyone filed out of the room and returned to their workstations. Eames' was right next to Ariadne's. "Will you be all right with this?" he asked in a low tone.

She glanced at him from her laptop screen. "Of course I will. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's going to be a tough situation. How much of it would remind you of earlier...?"

He was trying to be sensitive to something he didn't know about. He was automatically assuming the worst had happened, and was trying to protect her from it. His behavior was simultaneously endearing and maddening. She patted his hand even as she snorted. "I'm a big girl now, Eames. I can handle a few nasty side effects to medications."

"Is that all it was?" he asked, entirely too perceptive for his own good.

"It'll be all right. This is what we do, remember?"

Unhappy, Eames agreed and watched Ariadne log into the Ghost Network as Yusuf to go through the message boards. "You check that thing so often now."

"Yusuf's right. His complaint is the only one lodged. It probably didn't attract his attention. But there hasn't been anything else, so at least our UNSUB hasn't gone off somewhere else. He might still be around."

"Might be," Eames said with a sigh. "I suppose we'll find out by next week."

***

Terrie stared at the two bottles of blue nail polish in her hand and tried to pull on the bangs she had dyed. She should have tried it with a longer lock of hair, but hadn't thought about it at the time. She had just managed to get dressed in one of those outfits with all of the chains her mother despised before getting the dye in her hair, and she had to race out of the house before her mother caught her with all that black makeup on again. The stupid store didn't have any stupid mirrors to look at, so she had to roll her eyes up as high as she could to see which bottle matched her streak best. Her wrist cuffs had spikes on them, so she had to be careful not to poke herself in the eye or smear her eye makeup. She could always buy them both, but her mother would pitch a hissy fit if she spent anything on the credit card again, and she only had five dollars in her wallet. Only one bottle of polish for today, and she couldn't make up her mind.

"Excuse me, miss?"

Terrie turned to see a man in a crisp suit and button down shirt in the makeup aisle. He was fairly tall, with brown eyes and close cropped hair. She supposed he would have been at home in an office somewhere downtown. He had a shopping basket with a few items in it, and some looked suspiciously like women's underwear, socks and bras. He looked very, very straight, not even a bit metro. He also looked a little sheepish.

"I'm sorry. I forgot to write down which type of lipstick my girlfriend uses, and there are too many things in these aisles. Do you have a minute?"

Ah. That explained it. "You know what she usually uses?"

"Well, I got her foundation and the powder stuff," he said, indicating the basket. "It looks like a little wand thing in a tube."

"How come you're getting her all new stuff?"

His shy smile was painfully cute. "She's had a rough time at work lately, so I'm surprising her with a weekend out in Maryland. I want to have a bag packed and ready to go as a surprise."

Terrie chuckled. "Lucky girl. Does she do glossy lip stuff?" The man shook his head. "What kind of colors does she like?" Terrie eyed the basket, noting a distinct lack of eye shadow or pencils. "I take it she's a minimalist?"

He laughed a bit. "Yeah. A more natural look usually, but she can get dramatic sometimes. It's great when she does."

She grinned at him and selected a coral lip stain. "There ya go. Try that one. Multiple coats darken the color, so it'll be versatile for the weekend."

He accepted the stain. "Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it."

"No problem."

Terrie turned back to the bottles of polish when the man stopped her. "Were you trying to match colors?" he asked, curious.

"Yeah. I got only enough for one bottle today."

"The one on the left looks close," he offered with a shrug. He gave her a careless smile. "You know, as a thank you."

"Thanks, mister."

They parted ways; the man headed towards women's clothing and Terrie headed to the checkout counter. It was nice to know that there were some nice guys still left out there, even if her own boyfriend was a perfect tool and pothead.

***

Going under with a team was much different than going in solo or with one other person. Cobb was the dreamer for this one, and Ariadne could see his children streaking by, their blonde heads turned away as they laughed and sang at each other. His wife trailed after them, a soft expression on his face. Ariadne wondered why they were there. As trained as Cobb was, he should have been able to keep them out of the collective dream. She thought she saw Eames, though sometimes his face seemed to shimmer and become someone else's. She knew without looking down at herself that she was young, perhaps eight or nine or ten. Her memories were fuzzy for that time period, and she felt impossibly young. It was bad enough she was petite, but now she was practically a child in the dreamscape.

Each of them did their own thing, and the dream's details were hazy. Bored, Ariadne began to shift things around. The buildings soon had crisp, clean lines. There were curtains in the windows, plants on the sills and skyscrapers in the background. A train whistled past on tracks. It didn't resemble the Metro at all, but more like a vague, half remembered memory of a train ride she had taken to her aunt's home one summer when she was twelve. People were startled around her, and she resisted the urge to cackle. Trees sprouted beyond the train tracks, and there was a meadow behind it with little wildflowers here and there. The flowers were purple, and almost seemed to be the outline of a maze, with its exit in the forest beyond the meadow.

"What are you doing?" someone hissed, grabbing hold of her shoulder. She thought it was Justin Cobol, one of the senior agents in the SCU. He sounded angry.

"I'm bored," Ariadne said with a careless shrug. "You know we have to be around here for an hour real time. Have you done the math? You remember that it's going to be something like ten hours in dream time?"

Cobol frowned at her. "How are you even doing all of this?" he asked, letting go of her shoulder.

"I don't know. I don't really think about it. Haven't you ever liked making models or building things with blocks when you were a kid?"

"That was too long ago," he replied, his frown deepening. He wandered away, leaving Ariadne wondering if some people couldn't handle the dreamscape as well as they said they did.

She found Eames in a bustling cafe she created. She sat down across from him. "Is everyone else just wandering around aimlessly?"

He smiled and stirred the tea he had in front of him. "Well, they don't do this regularly, darling."

"I thought I saw your face shift for a minute before."

Eames winked at her. "Can't be giving away all my secrets, can I?" He sipped his tea. "I must say, I'm very impressed by all this. I didn't think this was part of the training they gave all of you."

"It isn't. I was just bored."

He laughed. "Sounds just like you, yeah." No one was around; everyone had been so focused on what was going to happen in the real world, they had forgotten that they had to figure out what they would do in the dream world for ten hours. Cobb seemed to have conjured up his wife and child to go play with; Eames had seen them heading toward the meadow maze that Ariadne had created. "Dreams are amazing things, aren't they?"

"You can do whatever you want in a dream," she said with a half smile. "Anything at all."

"Why did you need dream therapy, Ariadne?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"Bad things happen," Ariadne replied gently, patting his hand. "And therapy helps to give you a little perspective."

"Not all of us had that benefit, darling. Some of us had to muddle through as best as we could without it."

She gave him a soft, understanding smile and nodded. "Maybe that's another reason why we get along so well."

"If they yank my hotel stipend and I head back to the Yard, come visit me anytime." Eames gave her a playful grin. "I promise I'll still be a gentleman."

"But what if I don't want a gentleman?" Ariadne asked, leaning forward slightly with a teasing lilt to her smile.

His gaze darkened slightly, pupils blown wide. "Darling, perhaps it's another reason why we're such good friends."

For a moment Ariadne didn't know what to say. Her hand tightened over Eames'; people thought they were sleeping together anyway. What would be the harm in a dream? She opened her mouth to speak, not really knowing what she would say, but a low sound, almost like a foghorn, came blasting through the air. "What the hell?"

Spell broken, Eames shot to his feet. "Not your doing, then?"

"Not at all." She frowned. "It's... It sounds like something slowed down. It's from the outside." She looked around quickly, trying to track the others. "Where are they? Why haven't they figured out what's going on? Goddammit, they've been working in the unit for _years!_ They shouldn't be acting this green!"

Ariadne spun around when Eames didn't answer. He wasn't there beside her anymore, and everything was calm and still. Someone was standing in her line of sight, far enough away that features were dark, indistinct and blurred. It was male, she could tell that much, and suddenly her heart _seized._

"Wake me up!" she screeched, backing away and knocking over the cafe chairs around her. _"Wake me up!"_

She came to in the illegal sleep lab that the FBI had created. She couldn't breathe, and she clawed at the needles in her hand. _That fucker,_ she thought, thinking of Fischer. _He should know better than to use the back of my hand!_

Most of the others were milling about and looking confused. "What the hell was that?" Cobb demanded, shouting at Fischer. They would go into it in a moment, and it would be useless. Half of the argument would be for show, if the Dream Killer was about, and half of it would be to vent Cobb's frustrations.

Eames was talking to Yusuf, concern etched on his features. Two of the agents had left already, Cobol one of them. Ariadne pulled the elastic from her hair, releasing the ponytail she had put it in. She hadn't had something like this happen to her in _years._ It had to be the conversation with Eames in the dream cafe. She hadn't even thought about that abuse in years either. She had put it behind her like so much detritus. It didn't define her or who she was, but it was there, still lurking. It probably always would be, and they had warned her and her parents about that. The sleep therapy helped her put it into perspective, but it didn't eliminate the past.

She approached Eames and Yusuf, ignoring Cobb and Fischer arguing. "They should just fuck it out their systems," Eames snarked, defusing the tension in their trio. Ariadne chuckled as she was meant to, and Eames relaxed a fraction. "Today was an utter bust."

"The nature of labs," Yusuf replied with a shrug. "The work isn't always steady."

"You are completely unflappable," Ariadne remarked. "Nothing bothers you."

"Not true," Yusuf replied. "You should've seen me the first time I got caught. I thought I would piss myself," he added with a sheepish grin. "Someone like me in prison? Not a good thing."

"Yeah, you're way too pretty for the general population," Eames teased.

"You could've claimed to be suicidal," Ariadne piped up with a smile. "You would've been in solitary, then."

"You both are _evil,"_ Yusuf responded, shaking his head to hide his smile. "Just as well I didn't get to prison then."

"What did happen? There was a noise?"

"Someone pulled the fire alarm upstairs. The thing's like a fog horn." Yusuf turned to look at Fischer's and Cobb's argument. "That's winding down. You'll probably head back to the office."

Eames frowned. He was in chinos and a loud orange shirt, not exactly work appropriate. Ariadne was in tight jeans, a loose top and had a bright yellow scarf on. Also not work appropriate. "Might as well take the rest of the afternoon off," Eames told Ariadne. "I have a few errands to run, anyway." She accepted that, and Eames paid a visit to a friend of his. "Max," he said by way of greeting. "You have the file for me?"

Max was a tall, thin black man with piercing light eyes. His head was shaved completely bald and he was dressed in denim and leather. He had a flat Received Pronunciation accent. "Mate," Max began, handing over the file, "I wasn't the first to go in and get this."

Eames stilled. "What do you mean?"

"Three weeks ago, someone hacked the system. Copied her _entire_ file without a trace of who or what he was. I assume he, anyway. Most birds I know aren't as good wiping their trails clean. This one was nearly perfect. If not for a slight deviation, I would've thought it untouched."

Eames' blood ran cold. "I'll need you to go in and check the SCU..."

Max grinned, teeth flashing brilliant white against his dark skin. "Already ahead of you mate. I even checked the VCU blokes you've been working with. All SCU staff got a cursory look. Her file got an extensive search and everything was copied. Yours too, as a matter of fact." Max sobered. "He got it all, mate. Your work at the Yard, for MI6, everything. Even that cockup in Mombassa two years ago. _Everything."_

"And no sign where he hacked from," Eames murmured.

"I'm sorry. Bloke's better'n me, and that's saying something. He's a bloody ghost, he is."

Eames held Ariadne's file in his hands, and it felt too heavy. He hadn't planned to go this route, but too many things had been disturbing her recently, and they couldn't afford to let anything stop the investigations. Now he was starting to understand why it was _this_ investigation that was bothering her and not any of the side jobs they were assisting with.

The ghost was yanking her chain, likely to distract them. They had to be close.

Eames leaned forward slightly. "Max, any word on the floating archive I told you about?"

"The Ghost Network, you mean?" Eames nodded. "I'm almost convinced it's the same bloke. It's an elegant, elegant setup. I wish I'd done something like it." Max shook his head regretfully. "Unfortunately, I go tno farther than the FBI sods. There really is _nothing_ to find. Even the servers that housed it in the past don't think it exists."

Eames sat back heavily in his chair. "Fuck."

"Exactly. I wish I had more to tell you, mate. I really do."

"There's something I'm missing, I'm sure of it. He wouldn't go through all this trouble unless we found something to make him nervous."

"I'll tell you something, Eames. A setup like this is expensive and will suck up a lot of juice. It won't be easy to hide, feel me? This bloke has to be rolling in cash to keep his identity a secret. This is skill _and_ money."

Eames thought of the patient lists for all of the sleep clinics. They were exactly covered by insurance, either. Any disgruntled patient bearing a grudge could be the Dream Killer, and no one would be the wiser. This was, of course, assuming the Dream Killer was the one running the Ghost Network and not simply a user.

There was no way to isolate the user ID's and information on the network. Nothing else about it was static, but the server didn't even recognize it was being used at all. Eames didn't know what kind of tech could do that, but it had to be advanced if Max and the FBI were unable to crack it.

"I wish I had better news for you, Eames," Max told him apologetically. "I tried, but I just don't have anything to give you."

Eames rose and clapped a hand on Max's shoulder. "It's okay. I know you did your best. Give Nancy my love," he added, referring to Max's wife.

"When are you crossing the pond again?" Max asked.

"When Queen and country require me to," Eames answered with a shrug. "They think I can best serve their interests here."

"Recruiting or honestly assisting?" Max asked shrewdly.

Eames grinned. "That would be telling, mate."

"True. But I no longer exist, remember?"

Eames nodded. "Yeah. But I have enough trouble with the ghost I've got, Max. Save the curiosity for another time."

"Be safe, Eames," Max said, levity gone from his tone. "This entire thing smacks of a trap."

"I know. The hard part is figuring out whose it is." He clutched Ariadne's file closely.

He could only hope that he figured it out in time.

***  
***


	3. Going Under

_Pull yourself together!_ Ariadne told her reflection. It had been about two weeks of daily runs to the illegal sleep lab Fischer was nominally running. She felt dirty and used, and wondered if she was the one that Cobb had selected to be Fischer's victim. The SCU staff had been told that one would be selected at random and Cobb would be the only one to know who it was. After the spectacular fight he and Fischer had, Yusuf had posted about it. Cobb couldn't return to the lab, not after Yusuf complained that Fischer had been unprofessional, insulting and an all-around asshole. Fischer didn't have any invitation to the Network, but that in itself wasn't unusual. Not everyone was invited to it, after all. That did make Fischer a little nervous at times.

Ariadne left the bathroom and went to the main area to be hooked up. This lab's setup was professionally done and didn't look like a basement back room. She could handle this.

She was alone in the dream, sitting in the house she had grown up in. She was ten years old, looking out of the kitchen window into her mother's garden. She could tell that she had her adult size and mind, but she also knew on some level that she was ten in the dream. Anyone else dreaming with her just then would see a little girl sitting at the table. She left the house and stepped into the garden, seeing her mother weeding the flower beds and singing along to the radio. It was a comfortable memory to be in.

She wasn't alone in the dream. Something shifted subtly around her, though she couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. She turned and left the garden, lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the sun's glare. Someone was standing at the end of the driveway, and as her eyes adjusted to the dazzling light, she could see that it was Robert Fischer.

Fucking hell. She was going to kill Cobb.

Ariadne shifted the dream around her, becoming herself again, and took off at a run. She wasn't going to lay herself out there on a platter, no matter what Cobb said. She wasn't about to just lie back and play professional victim on his say-so, and Fischer wasn't about to knock her around without a fight.

It turned into a maze, and she could hear Fischer curse in the distance. She climbed a ladder that brought her up and over the maze, and she silently erased the ladder and began making her way along the top of it. Her heart was racing, even if this was just a dream and he probably wasn't going to do anything completely terrible. Probably. She didn't know VCU staff all that well, and she didn't like the idea that she was being set up for this.

Fischer was a better dreamer than she thought, however. Better than Cobol, at least. Shots rang out, and she tumbled from the top of the maze right into Fischer's arms. He had armed projections surrounding him, and a door opened in the maze. It led to a room with nothing but a bed on it, and Ariadne began to fight in earnest. She wasn't going to allow this to happen, and she knew how to fight dirty. She was good at the dreaming, dammit. She couldn't allow him to get the drop on her.

He was massive on top of her, even if he didn't look like it. Fischer had her pinned down to the bed, his armed projections guarding the door and shooting at all of hers. She screamed and thrashed, managing to get her knee up and into his groin. He grunted in pain, but held on tighter. His nails dug into her wrists painfully, keeping them pinned down on either side of her head.

This felt too real. He had to be doing this in real life, too. He had to be pinning her down, wedging his legs between hers. She felt sick to her stomach, even if she knew on some level that he wouldn't rape her. He just had to simulate it, had to make it look real if the Dream Killer was watching him.

Ariadne wrested her hands free and dug her thumbs into Fischer's eyes as she sobbed. She had wished she could do that when she was ten, but she had never been able to. It wasn't fair to Fischer, but she didn't care about fair any longer. As Fischer screamed behind her, she darted through a door that appeared in the wall in front of her. She closed it and had it seal shut behind her. She ran through the maze again, digging into her pockets looking for something to kill herself with. She couldn't wait for the kick at the cues that Yusuf had set up. She needed out and she needed out _now._

The best she could come up with while running was a hunting knife, and she shuddered. She was tempted to throw it away; the connotations were all too clear for her own mind, and she wanted to curl up in a corner and weep. She had to calm down. She had to stop running and she had to think and stop _reacting_ as if she was a child. She wasn't a child anymore, it wasn't happening again, and she had moved past all of this, dammit. She was a grown woman and a fucking FBI agent.

It was about damn time to act like one.

She stopped to catch her breath and stabbed the knife into the wall. She wasn't going to use that if she didn't have to. Ariadne took a deep breath, then looked down at herself. She was in a pantsuit, one of her favorite ones, and she could feel the shoulder holster tucked snugly beneath her arm. That was better.

Fischer's projections closing in, Ariadne took out her service weapon and shot herself in the head.

She came to with a gasp, Fischer lying heavily on top her, the lead still tucked into his arm. Fucking bastard. She shoved him off of her, and he woke when he hit the floor. Shaking, Ariadne yanked the lead out of her arm and looked around her with a crazed expression. If he so much as leered at her, she was going to take off the top of his head with a chair.

Fischer looked at her in concern and confusion, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Her hands were fisted at her sides and her entire body language was screaming violence. Ariadne had to force her hands to open, and she had to make sure that her spine was straight as she walked out over Yusuf's protests. He was pretending to be bastard and an opportunist, but somehow he'd crossed the line with her. Apparently he was doing too good a job. It was clear that he didn't even know what he had done to tip the balance for her.

Ariadne leaned against the side of the building and took in great gulps of air. This was just pretend. It was a job, not the real thing. She had to remind herself of that.

Yusuf had followed her out, concern etched across his features. "Ariadne?" he asked, hesitating before finally touching her arm to get her attention.

"Bad trip," she said in a strangled voice, trying to smile and ease his concern. It didn't quite work, and she could see the worry in his eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow, Yusuf. Hopefully when that asswipe isn't around trying to cop a feel."

Yusuf swallowed down whatever he was going to say and merely nodded. "I'm sorry, Ariadne."

"Yeah," she said, her voice amazingly hoarse. "Me, too."

***

Ariadne sighed and dragged herself back into her apartment building. She had run herself harder than usual after the disastrous situation at the sleep lab, and she certainly wasn't looking forward to going that afternoon. She planned to meet up with Eames in the Hoover building in the morning to go over their notes again. He had pitched his theory of a rich dreamer hosting his own network, and wanted to look for power spikes on the national grid. Cobb had shut down that theory, stating that they simply had to keep going ahead with the plan. "It's too late to change things now," he said sternly. "You can't go back. We have to go in deeper and just get this done."

Ariadne had looked away, unable to stand the sight of Cobb just then.

Letting out a breath, she let herself into her apartment and went through her usual morning routine. If she scrubbed a little harder during her shower, that was okay. She had been sweaty and had run really hard, after all. It had nothing to do with the coming afternoon, nothing to do with dread at the thought of even _looking_ at Fischer. The fear running down her spine had nothing to do with this job, had nothing to do with the half remembered ghosts of her past.

She dressed in her favorite pantsuit for an extra bit of comfort, and wore a fuschia button down shirt beneath the jacket. She loaded everything into her laptop bag and palmed her keys as she passed by the front hall table. She dug her phone out of her pocket as she undid the bolt. _See you soon,_ she texted Eames, and slid the phone into her jacket pocket.

She locked her front door and passed by the stairwell entry, and there was a shadow shifting at the corner of her eyes. A bag slipped over her head, and a sedative was injected directly into her neck. Ariadne clawed at the arms locked around her like a vise, but she could feel herself slipping into unconsciousness.

 _I'm sorry,_ she thought, her body falling limp. She didn't know why she was thinking it, or who she was apologizing to.

Everything went dark.

***

Ariadne came to slowly, clawing her way back up to consciousness. She was in a seated position, her arms behind her. She could tell that they were tied around something smooth and metal, cold against her wrists. It felt like some kind of plastic beneath her hands, and she could tell that her legs were sprawled out in front of her. Her chin was leaning down against her chest, her dark hair spilling down around her like a curtain. She could feel her shoes still on her feet, could still feel her phone in her jacket pocket. The weight of her gun was gone, and she missed its comforting presence. She felt hung over, the drug still coursing its way through her system.

The first thing she was aware of was the bright blue plastic tarp beneath her, the color a sharp contrast to the dark gray of her pants. She lifted her head with some difficulty, her hair parting enough to let her look around the room. It looked like rough sheetrock walls, nothing plastered over or painted. Someone had built this recently, and one panel appeared to have hinges. She looked up and saw that she had apparently been tied to a house jack.

Fuck. She was captured and kept in someone's basement. She was sitting on a tarp, and there was no indication of where she was, why she was there or when she had been taken. Her laptop bag was missing, and she let her eyes fall shut. Something deep inside her gut told her that this abduction was case related, though there was no way to prove it. She felt deep in her bones, certain knowledge beneath her eyelids and in every breath she drew in. The Dream Killer somehow knew about her, even if he shouldn't have, and he had brought her here.

She wondered if she was alone here, or if the Dream Killer had kidnapped Eames as well.

Ariadne closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. It smelled like plaster and paint, something she could deal with. She moved through the relaxation exercise, eyes closed. There was nothing to see in the room anyway. She imagined her apartment, the open windows and her little plant that her mother had given her. Something to remind you of home, her mother had said when she moved to DC.

Ariadne opened her eyes again and stared at the sheetrock. She would not scream, she would not cry. If the Dream Killer was going to kill her, she would meet her death with dignity.

***

There was no way to tell how long time dragged on. She listened to the creaking sounds around her, trying to place where she was in the house or if someone else was there with her. This was real, painfully real, and not just a somnacin-imposed dream. She didn't need her totem to tell her this was real, that she was being held somewhere against her will. She was hungry and cold, her hands and ass numb from sitting in that position for far too long. Ariadne ran through songs in her head, went over the PASIV instruction manual, thought back over the lists of the victims' names and stats. She thought of Eames, his eyes warm with concern as they looked at her as if she was a puzzle to put together. He was a bit of a puzzle himself, and now she would never figure it out.

It was probably really hours, but it felt like days. She tried doing leg lifts and various leg stretches and exercises to pass the time. Some shimmying and sliding along the tarp got her to her feet, though there was nowhere else to go but back down into a sitting position. She guessed that it was sometime in the afternoon when there was no obvious way to avoid urinating on herself. She closed her eyes and tried to squeeze her knees together, giving herself a little extra time. But trying to avoid thinking about the urge to pee was impossible. If anything, it made the urge that much more intense, and she let go with a sob. She kept her eyes shut tight as the sensation of warm wetness spread between her legs and the sound of it hitting the tarp seemed impossibly loud. Humiliated, Ariadne sucked back an unsteady breath and tried not to cry. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't give in. She wouldn't be some helpless girl stuck in the basement who knew where, tied up over a tarp. She _refused_ to be a victim again.

But dammit, the Dream Killer was putting her back in that position, no matter how hard she tried to fight it.

She slept fitfully at times, a crick forming in her neck. Hunger pangs came and went. Thirst was constant. The need to urinate came and went, but the first time having to pee on herself had been the worst. Without meaning to, she found herself crying a few times. She couldn't wipe at her face, couldn't do anything more than sniffle to try to clear out her nose. It was quiet in the basement, with only occasional sounds of the boiler coming on or shutting off. She was alone in the house, and she was going to starve to death.

Once Ariadne accepted that fact, the fear ebbed away. There was no use being afraid of the Dream Killer or wondering why he broke his pattern. He had kidnapped the victim, not the perpetrator, and she couldn't figure out why. He wasn't injecting her with anything, wasn't making any motion to carve things into her chest. In the first hours she had tried to puzzle it out, but now it didn't matter anymore. She was going to die slowly, and there would be no way to find her. No one had ever found the Dream Killer's victims until they were deposited, and there had never been any forensic evidence at the scene of the crime or on the corpses. No matter how many police watched over the victims' homes or workplaces, they were always taken. Though parks were observed, bodies turned up anyway. Somehow he was able to dodge all security.

Maybe he really was a ghost.

Something woke her suddenly. She had been dreaming and was suddenly awake; there had been food and sunlight and passersby at the cafe she had been sitting at, so it had to be a dream. She was back in the dank basement room, sitting in her own dried filth and stinking of it. Her arms were completely numb and the tarp rustled as she shifted her position. The single light bulb overhead was still on, and for a moment she couldn't figure out what woke her.

She recognized it an instant later: the hinged part of the wall was open.

A figure in jeans and an old T shirt came into the room with a plastic bag full of washcloths and another tarp and a bucket that sloshed with soapy water. The figure looked up, and it was a young man with dark hair, brown eyes and chiseled features. He looked vaguely familiar, though Ariadne didn't know where she had seen him before. She couldn't place the face or how he was dressed, and couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that this was likely the man that had kidnapped her.

He placed the bucket carefully down on the floor and knelt beside her. She watched him dip a washcloth into the bucket and bring it to her face. He scrubbed it gently, his left hand cupping her jaw to keep her head still as he washed her face. "I'm very sorry," he murmured, and Ariadne knew that voice from somewhere. "There were things to be done. I couldn't come back sooner."

"Who are you?" she rasped, voice hoarse. She felt as if she had spent days screaming, though she had remained stubbornly silent except for wracked sobs.

He carefully wiped at her tearstained cheeks. "My name is Arthur," he told her in soft tones. He dipped the washcloth back into the bucket. His lips quirked into a smile as he wiped at her face again. "Not what you expected, am I?"

"None of this is."

"You're very calm," he remarked, finishing up her face. His touch had been strangely gentle and reverent, but his expression was carefully blank.

"You're going to kill me," Ariadne rasped. "By now, I'm okay with that."

Arthur went into the plastic bag and removed a pair of kitchen scissors. He looked at her evenly. "I'm not going to kill you, Ariadne." He motioned toward her ruined pants vaguely with the scissors. "I'm sorry about this, by the way. But as humiliating as this was, I didn't want to do any damage putting in a catheter. I don't normally use them, and I didn't want to cause any internal bleeding just because I haven't placed any before." He glanced at Ariadne's wary expression. "The pants are ruined, unfortunately. I doubt I could get them clean enough to wear again. I'll cut them off and clean you up. I have a clean tarp to replace this one with."

"Why are you doing this?"

He cut the pants along the sides of her legs instead of answering. When he was finished, he looked up at her. "Lift your hips."

"Why are you doing this?" she repeated.

He grasped her jaw tightly. "Ariadne. I'm not going to rape you. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm aware this looks bad, but I needed to keep you safe, and this was the lesser of two evils. Now, lift your hips." She did so, her teeth clenched tightly together. "Thank you."

Ariadne let her eyes fall shut as he pulled the ruined dress pants and underwear from her hips. She could hear him drag another washcloth through the soapy water in the bucket, but couldn't bring herself to watch him look at her. He could say one thing and do something else completely. She was at his mercy.

"Ariadne, look at me."

When she finally opened her eyes, he was staring at her face. "I'm going to look you directly in the eyes, Ariadne. This is not about anything more than getting you clean."

She couldn't breathe. He could be lying. He could be trying to trick her. It was impossible to read his bland expression, and his brown eyes were flat and dead. There was nothing behind them, nothing at all. He was a soulless creature, moving and talking as if alive. This had to be the ghost, had to be the Dream Killer.

He didn't lie, however. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he dipped the washcloth into the water and brought the cloth to her legs. His touch was firm but completely asexual. He seemed to take great care in preventing skin to skin contact, and even when he had to help her stand up he never looked away. When he had to kneel to reach the bucket, he didn't break eye contact and didn't ogle her nakedness. It was strangely intimate, all this eye contact, feeling that intense gaze on her. When Arthur finished, he quietly left the room and returned with a few fluffy towels. He kept up the eye contact as he knelt in front of her to towel her legs off and pressed it between her legs. He took another and wrapped it firmly around her waist, tucking the end in to help preserve her dignity. Ariadne felt her heart stutter in her chest when the back of his hand grazed the skin of her stomach, and she managed to blink back tears that threatened to form.

Arthur left the basement room with the plastic bag and bucket, leaving the new packaged tarp behind. "There is an option," he began in an even tone upon his return. "Rather than doing this again. And I do need to feed you while I'm here."

"What's that?"

He kept his gaze on her steadily. "I've shown I can keep my promise to you, haven't I?" He came forward so that he was directly in front of her. Even though she was still in her heels, he was taller than her. "Can you keep a promise to me?"

"Depends on what it is," she replied stiffly.

He smiled then, though his eyes remained as dead and empty as before. "Fair enough. Can you promise not to run if I bring you to another room? That one has a bathroom."

"Then why didn't you put me there to start with?" she asked tartly.

"It wasn't set up for you to use," he replied with a shrug. "But it's ready now."

She doubted that she could hurt him, even if she launched at him with the element of surprise. She was half starved, weak and dizzy. She might miss, fall and hurt herself. And where would she be at that point? Ariadne would have to agree for now.

"I won't run," she promised, words thick and heavy on her tongue.

Arthur touched her cheek gently, a light caress displaying his pleasure at her words. "Good." He took a box cutter from his pocket and cut through the ropes easily. He held her arm in a firm grip, guiding her from the small sheetrock room into another room. This one looked as though it had been part of the original design of the house, rather than an addition that Arthur built himself. There was little to see in the basement, and he entered the new room with her. There was a couch and desk, with various newspaper clippings pinned to the wall above the desk. A small refrigerator was in the corner of the room. There was a closet and a door into what was presumably the bathroom. Arthur steered her to the couch and had her sit down, and the room tilted at crazy angles for Ariadne.

"What did you dose me with?" she asked, holding her head in one hand. It didn't keep the room from spinning at all.

He knelt in front of her, a blank expression on his face. "I injected a sedative three days ago," he told her. "You haven't eaten since then. You need to eat now."

She watched as he left the room, and pushed herself to her feet. The room spun a bit, and he frowned at her as he returned. "I don't feel right."

Arthur put the bag of food on the table and pushed her back down to a seated position. He took her face between his hands and tilted it up so that she could look at him. "I am not going to hurt you, Ariadne. And I will not allow you to hurt yourself. You have to stay here."

"I need to leave," she insisted, feeling silly for telling him this. This was the Dream Killer. He wasn't about to let her leave. She would have to figure a way out on her own.

He brushed the ball of his thumb over her lip gently. "You think you do," he murmured. "I'm sorry it happened this way, Ariadne. But this is the only way to keep you safe." He hunkered down across from her, his hands still on her face. "We're the same, you and I."

Ariadne flinched back from his touch and hated the fact that her stomach growled at the smell of the sandwich on the table. "We're nothing alike."

He smiled again, but this time his eyes crinkled at the corners. Genuine amusement, though Ariadne was tempted to slap it off of his face. He might have been handsome, if she had met him under ordinary circumstances. Now, she hated the sight of him. "Now isn't the time for a discussion like that. I don't think you'd appreciate it." He took the bag of food and put it into her lap. "I've made you a sandwich. There are drinks and snacks in the fridge. Try to make it last. I'll probably be back in a few days."   
"A few days?" Ariadne cried, incredulous. She forgot that she was wearing nothing but a towel beneath the waist and pushed herself up to her feet. She was petite and felt delicate next to him, but glared at him anyway. "You can't leave me here," she said, taking a swing at him.

He ducked and easily pushed her back down into a seated position as the room swam again. "I told you, Ariadne," he said patiently. "I won't hurt you and I won't allow you to hurt yourself." He stared at her evenly when she was about to reply. "I saw you that day. I saw what you put yourself through trying to catch me."

Her gut twisted at the simple words. He had been watching her, and openly admitted that he was the one she had been trying to track. Dear God, she was never getting out of here alive.

"I admire that, I really do. But your trust in them is misplaced. I don't blame you for that. You just don't know any better."

Stunned, Ariadne simply watched him leave. She heard the click of a lock and the rasp of a padlock sliding into place. She was an idiot. Never mind that she was weak and dizzy. She should have fought more. Though on some level, she knew that didn't make any sense either. Opening the bag, she looked at the sandwich and plastic baggie with carrot sticks. Without meaning to, she found herself starting to cry.

At some point, the tears slowed and she began to eat. She couldn't really taste anything, but she was going to have to keep her strength up. She would find a way out of this room, and she would get out of this house. After eating half of the sandwich, Ariadne put it down and went to examine the newspaper clippings. They were articles regarding sleep labs and various attempts at passing new regulation for them. Not one of them mentioned any of the dead people the Dream Killer had gone after.

The desk drawers were empty, and Ariadne went to the small closet. She nearly fell down at the sight of women's clothing hanging there, tags still attached. They were the same style and size as what was in her closet at home, and a small basket at the bottom of the closet held underwear and bras, still packaged and also in her size. The bathroom had a small shower, and there was a small plastic basket containing shampoo, body wash and makeup in her usual brands. There were five towels stacked up next to the shower. She leaned against the door frame and tried to remember how to breathe. She shut her eyes tightly, and could only hope that Eames was looking for her. He would know she was missing. They all had to know that she was missing, and that she didn't simply leave.

Arthur had to have made a mistake at some point, even if he hadn't before. He broke his pattern, this wasn't his usual routine. He had to have made a mistake somewhere.

Ariadne was counting on that.

***  
***


	4. A Different Point Of View

Eames stood in the middle of Ariadne's apartment. She had been gone for over a week already, and that couldn't bode well for her. He had no idea why the Dream Killer would have taken Ariadne. It broke the pattern. Cobb admitted after a few days that Ariadne was the chosen victim out of the SCU team; the others looked too strong, and Ariadne still was capable of soft expressions and empathy. It took all of Eames' strength of will to keep from taking a swing at Cobb, especially when the SAC merely sat there with a blank expression as he told Eames that his consultation services would no longer be needed.

"That's a load of shite," Eames had spat, jaw clenched. "I hadn't heard it from my superiors, and I _don't_ work for you."

"Precisely."

Eames had called his supervisor at Scotland Yard, regardless of the time difference. He had the man's personal cell phone number, and despite the fact that he was a subordinate, Eames considered the man a friend. "Superintendent," he had bit out, pacing in the quietest room he could find. It was generally where the agents stood on the other side of a two way mirror to observe questioning. "Have I been recalled?"

"Eames, you idiot," Superintendent Mayhew sighed. "What in the bleeding hell are you talking about?"

"Cobb told me to stuff it today. Are those my official orders?"

"The fuck?" Mayhew said, obviously surprised. "I just had word a few days ago from AD Saito that your input has been invaluable."

"Well, nine days ago my partner was kidnapped. Possibly by the Dream Killer, as there is no evidence. She just vanished."

Mayhew blew out a breath. "How can you be sure it's the killer?"

"No forensic evidence, snatched up on her way in to work. Fits the abduction MO, even if it doesn't fit the profile." Eames paced the room with jerky steps. "I don't know what kind of game Cobb is playing, but he's just hung her out to dry."

"Listen, Eames. There are no orders on my end to recall you. If need be, talk to Saito directly. I don't have to tell you how important it is that you find the Dream Killer. This comes from the bloody Assistant Commissioner, Eames."

"I know," he ground out. He couldn't tell Mayhew about what Yusuf had revealed about the sleep lab deaths; the Assistant Commissioner would never want to believe his nephew was a pedophile and rapist. "Look. There had to be something we saw, and that's why she got snatched. I tried telling Cobb this, but his head's so far up his own arse he can see his tonsils. The others don't get it. They can't see the connections right in front of their faces."

"I don't think," Mayhew began in careful tones, "that our agendas match up exactly."

Eames stopped pacing. He was staring at the mirror, looking into the empty examination room. He didn't see it. He could almost see the expression that had to be on Mayhew's face right then. "What are you saying, Mayhew?"

"I'm saying, Eames," Mayhew continued in those careful tones, "that Saito might be your only backup in this. We know he at least has a similar goal in finding her. Cobb is rather like the ACA, don't you think?"

So now Eames was standing in the middle of Ariadne's empty apartment, looking it over and trying to see it through the Dream Killer's eyes. He had managed to make an appointment to see Saito after the conversation with Mayhew, but there was no point to staying in the bullpen with Cobb glaring at him. He had a job to do, goddammit, and Cobb withholding information wasn't helping matters. _There's a reason you're so good at what you do,_ Mayhew had said a year ago, sliding a folder across his desk at Eames. _Read this, and tell me what you think._ It had been the file on the Assistant Commissioner's nephew. Eames had been blunt, because he knew he could trust Mayhew and it would go no further. Mayhew had only nodded throughout the assessment. _This is why you need to go. You need to find him, and you need to find him_ fast. _This comes from the ACA himself. Find him, and if he can't be brought in, put a bullet between his eyes._

Eames still needed to find him. That was proving to be the hard part.

He had to push away his memories of Ariadne in the apartment. He had visited often in the three months they had worked together, and they had shared pizza and drinks while going over case files. It was a strong friendship, one he counted as close as Max or Mayhew. She was almost like family, and it burned that he hadn't seen this coming. He hadn't been able to prevent it.

Nothing was disturbed in the apartment. An FBI forensic team had swept through it, dusting for prints and looking for any evidence. None was found. Eames hadn't expected there to be, but he knew the killer had to have been in the apartment at some point. He had to have followed Ariadne, moving like a ghost, tracking her until he figured out her schedule. Eames could almost picture it. Ariadne would have her morning run, come back through the apartment. Eames moved toward the bathroom, hesitating at the threshold to Ariadne's bedroom. It was a wreck, and would look nothing like how Ariadne would have left it in the morning. He had glimpsed it in the past, but never invited himself inside. It felt almost wrong to enter it now, but he did so anyway. He needed to see how things might have been for the Dream Killer. He needed to try to understand from his point of view.

She was quiet but not a loner. He knew her entire FBI file inside and out, everything she had told him and everything that she hadn't. She was dedicated and hardworking, she honestly cared about her job. She was real in a way that many people weren't. Eames knew that because he had gotten to know her. The Dream Killer could know that simply by looking at her living space. It was comfortable, with things in it that she enjoyed to look at or read. It was a lived-in space, a space she truly thought of as home. There were pictures of family and friends, a calendar full of notes and appointments and things to do.

Eames stood in the middle of her bedroom, taking in its chaos. Nothing had been touched. Nothing had been disturbed, nothing to indicate that any violent struggle had occurred. Her building was old enough not to have any security cameras installed in the upper floors. Security only covered the main lobby and entrance. Even the service elevator and entrance wasn't covered by security.

Eames looked around the room one more time. The Dream Killer might have come into her apartment at some point. All the evidence pointed to the fact that he learned about his targets, that he knew just about everything about them before they were taken. That must include seeing what their space was like and knowing their routines. He didn't take anything, however, because Ariadne had never felt as though she was being followed. He took nothing and left no forensic evidence behind. Ariadne's front door had been locked when the FBI team had arrived, and needed the building super to unlock the door. Eames used the key she had given him to get in tonight, and he used it to lock the door behind him after watering her plant.

The stairwell door was near her apartment door. He had passed by it dozens of times, never once looking twice at it. He had always taken the elevator, though Ariadne sometimes teased him that he needed the exercise.

He yanked open the door, though he knew better to expect anything in the landing. He ran down the flights of stairs, finding that it continued down into the basement. Eames frowned as he reached out to try the door. It opened easily under his hand, and he stepped into the building's basement. There was the elevator bank, though only the superintendent had the key to allow it to go down to the basement level. Eames saw storage rooms, the boiler room, various access panels for electricity and water meters. Old discarded furniture and trunks were also stacked in the basement, and he saw the service exit. There was both a door and a garage door. The garage door was clearly locked and bolted.

When he tried it, he found that the service entrance was not.

He whirled around and punched the wall in frustration. Nothing new, nothing that the FBI had missed. They weren't idiots, and neither was the Dream Killer. This was an old residential neighborhood, so there weren't even business security cameras to scroll through to look for clues.

He couldn't give up on her. As long as there was no body, he couldn't give up. She deserved better than that.

***

Exercise helped to pass the time. Ariadne jogged in place until exhausted, did stretches and leg lifts and sit ups, whatever yoga poses she could remember and tried to practice self defense moves she had learned in Quantico. Even so, that didn't take up all of her time. She spaced out the snacks in the fridge, keeping herself on the edge of hunger but still able to function. As much as it disturbed her to think that Arthur had to have been observing her for some time, it was also comforting to have familiar things. She took long showers because she had nothing else to do, keeping her eyes closed as she shampooed her hair or used the body wash. She shaved and used all of the lotions, and considered breaking apart the razor to take out the blades. It wouldn't be much of a weapon against Arthur, but at least it was something.

The couch was old and lumpy in places, and the blanket across the back of it was relatively thin. Ariadne huddled underneath it, curling in on herself to conserve heat. There was a definite cadence to the heat in the house, something that at least helped her to guess at the passage of time. She could hear noises better in this room than the other one, though there wasn't much to listen for. A few times she thought she heard footsteps overhead, but if Arthur was in the house, he didn't come to visit her.

When she did finally hear the rasp of the padlock being pulled, she was ready. She had broken one of the razor blades in a vain attempt to cut or unscrew the lock. Her current plan was to let Arthur come in close and start slicing with the razor blade if he wouldn't let her go.

He carried food, a pack of cards and a mystery novel she might have ordinarily been interested in reading. It was eerie how much he knew about her, how much he was trying to accommodate her. Ariadne couldn't believe that he actually cared about her, that he wasn't planning to kill her or use her in some way.

Arthur closed the door behind him and put everything down on the desk. "Hello, Ariadne," he said evenly, looking at her. "You're looking well."

"I'd feel even better in my own apartment," she replied sweetly. Her hands were behind her, a razor blade held carefully between her fingers. She had only one chance to do this, and she couldn't afford to fuck it up.

Arthur's smile was chilling. "They've ruined it in their searches for evidence, I'm afraid. It would feel violated if you returned there."

 _Of course they'd look for me. Of course they'd look for clues._ Ariadne was sure that there would be nothing to find. "What are you going to do with me?"

"I told you, Ariadne. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm protecting you from yourself."

"I can protect myself. I don't need your help."

As she had hoped, Arthur seemed drawn to her standoffish behavior and stepped closer. "Ariadne, I realize you're a strong woman. Don't get me wrong on that count." His smile was meant to be conciliatory, but Ariadne was seething. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, and she wondered if he could hear it. "But right now, they have things so twisted up. They're not working with your best interest in mind."

"And you are?" she asked, a mocking lilt to her tone.

"It may not look like it, but I am," he agreed, stepping closer. "I understand this is hard for you to take in." His expression slid back into that carefully blank look, and she wondered how long it had taken for him to perfect it. Arthur reached out to her calmly. "I do care about what happens to you."

She didn't pause to take in what the comment might mean. She lunged forward with the razor blades, slashing at his forearms and trying to twist away from him toward the door. Without any indication that he felt the pain, he grabbed hold of her. They tussled, and Ariadne had to let go of the blades in order to grasp his arms to try to throw him. She had the advantage of training and surprise, as well as his heavier body weight to use as momentum. He had seized hold of her, however, so they both crashed into the couch. Ariadne struggled, slamming her knee into his groin and digging her fingernails into his forearms. She brought the top of her head into his sternum, striking hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Even so, he hung onto her, face contorted in pain.

"Let go!" she cried, digging her nails in harder.

"Never," he gasped, pushing off of the floor to roll on top of her.

He was heavy, and the breath whooshed out of her lungs. Though she struggled beneath him, he was able to grab her wrists and hold them over her head, pinning her to the floor. They were both panting, and Arthur was clearly injured. He could have done serious damage to her, but as far as she could tell, only her pride was hurt.

"Ariadne," he said softly, his entire body flush against hers. "Don't fight me."

She let out an inarticulate howl as she tried to throw him off of her. He made no move to do more than lie on top of her to subdue her, but there was a small thrill of panic running down her spine. She remembered the weight of Robert Fischer on top of her, and in the manner of a half remembered dream, the weight of a stranger over her ten year old body. Nearly breathless, she struggled beneath Arthur and managed to keep from sobbing.

"We're the same, Ariadne," he said in that same soft, patient tone. It was maddening, how he wasn't reacting to her struggles. "Don't fight me on this."

"We're _not_ the same," she hissed. "Get the fuck off of me!"

"There can be no justice where there is no crime," Arthur murmured. "Isn't that right, Ariadne? Isn't that what they say to justify why they can't prosecute?" She stilled beneath him, her eyes large as they took in his calm expression. She could feel the tension in his body, since it was pressed so tightly against hers. His facial expression was a perfect blank, as if sculpted from marble. It was eerie.

"What are you talking about?" she whispered.

"They say there's no physical evidence. They say there's no crime committed, nothing they can do. So they kick you away and leave you to recover the pieces of your own life, leave you try to figure out how to deal with what's happened. They leave you with no one to blame but yourself, even though you _know_ you aren't the one at fault." His voice was soft and almost hypnotic, almost lulling. Tension still thrummed throughout his body, his hands still tight over her wrists. "You know that's not how it should be. You know that there should be punishment for the crime."

"Not this way," she rasped.

"How else will it happen? I've read every conversation, every article regarding reform and laws. Every time, it dies. No one's interested, no one cares. There's no physical attack. The scene of the crime is your mind. No one's going to do anything about it." His expression took on an almost pleading note. "They get away with awful things while you're asleep, and there's no one out there to stop it."

Ariadne gathered up her strength and attempted to throw him off of her. "I'm not like you!"

Arthur slammed his weight back down into her, pressing her down into the floor, locking her into place. "We are exactly the same!" he said, emotion bleeding through and cracking his perfect facade. "Everyone pretended nothing happened! But it did! You can't erase what happened!" He picked up her wrists and thumped them back down into the floor. "Don't you understand it? We can change things. We can make it better. It doesn't have to stay that way."

She attempted to throw him off of her again, and again Arthur slammed his weight back down into her. His entire body covered hers, and there was an almost violent spark in his brown eyes. She managed not to shiver at the sight of it. _Oh dear God, I'm going to die._

"Listen to what I'm saying, Ariadne," Arthur said, an intensity coloring his voice. "This is bigger than either of us."

"You're a murderer." She nearly growled at him, baring her teeth. She was surprised her heart didn't simply leap out of her chest.

"This is about dispensing justice. Those victims never would have been free. There was no trial by jury, no fines, not even a slap on the wrist." His hands tightened around her wrists. "You remember him, don't you? The one that kidnapped you?"

Ariadne felt as though she was a bug under a microscope. She squirmed, trying to pull free. "Get off of me!"

"You remember him," Arthur decided, that intense expression back on his face. "You don't want to think about it, but you remember him. It's hard to forget that kind of thing, isn't it? You can move through your life, you can ignore that it happened most of the time. But something brings it back. Something always brings it back."

"Shut up!" she screeched, truly baring her teeth at him. "Shut up and let me go!"

 _"Listen!"_ he hissed, giving her another wicked shake. "Just fucking listen to me!"

Ariadne began to struggle in earnest, grunting with the effort to try to throw him off of her. She managed to wedge a knee between his legs to try to ram it up into his crotch, but he shifted position to lie between her legs. Arthur had to grasp one wrist in each of his hands, and he had to press his chest firmly against hers to keep her still. If anything, Ariadne redoubled her efforts and was nearly screaming in his face to let go of her.

Arthur kissed her. It was more pressing his mouth against hers to swallow her screams than anything else, and Ariadne stilled in shock. There was a low whimpering sound in the back of her throat that she didn't even realize she was making. At the sound of it, Arthur broke the kiss and retreated, a contrite expression on his face. "I'm sorry, Ariadne. I told you I won't hurt you. I won't." He carefully let go of her wrists and pushed himself up to a seated position, kneeling between her legs. He rested his hands on his thighs, keeping eye contact with her. "I know what you're going through, Ariadne," he said softly. "I know what it feels like."

"You know nothing about me," she said hoarsely. She slowly pulled herself up to a seated position and kept a wary glance at Arthur. He was facing the door to the room, and she was fractionally closer. She couldn't see where the razor blades had fallen, but that hadn't been as effective as she had hoped.

"I know more than you think." He gave her a crooked smile. "I'm sure I know you better than Mr. Eames does."

She stilled and could only stare at him. "What?"

"He's dangerous, Ariadne," Arthur murmured. "How well do you know him? How well do you _think_ you know him?" he corrected.

"As much as he knows about me," Ariadne said. Then she turned to leap for the doorway.

Arthur sprang after her, tackling her to the floor. Ariadne's breath left her lungs again, and Arthur pulled her to lie solidly beneath him. She struggled, but her arms were tucked beneath her and she had no leverage to throw him off. "He can't help you, Ariadne," Arthur murmured into her ear, his breath warm and moist. "He doesn't know where to look, and he doesn't know why it has to be done. You do, though. You understand. You just don't want to."

"Let me go," Ariadne pleaded, her voice coming out like a tortured wail.

"I can't."

"I won't tell," she promised, knowing she was lying. "I won't tell anyone about you."

Arthur chuckled. "I'm not stupid. You'd turn me in the first chance you got. You don't want to understand why this has to be done."

"You shouldn't have kidnapped me. I have nothing to do with this."

He laughed outright, but it was a bitter and hateful laugh. "The FBI and their silly notions about patterns and rituals and shit." The hand in Ariadne's line of vision tightened into a fist. "This isn't about a ritual. This isn't about a need I can't fill any other way. This isn't about me. Don't you get it? This is isn't for _me._ This is for everyone else. This is to protect everyone else." His lips were right against her ear, and Ariadne couldn't breathe. "We're the same, you and I. I told you. We know how this works, we know why they do what they do. And because of that knowledge, we have to help the ones that can't help themselves. We need to stop what happened to us from happening to anyone else."

Ariadne nearly sobbed. He was heavy and she could barely breathe from the combination of his weight and her own horror.

Because she did understand. She understood all too well.

"So I can't stop," Arthur said softly, almost crooning into her ear. "It won't ever be finished until _they_ stop. And there's always someone out there that just can't help themselves when given the opportunity."

He got up and left her there, curled in on herself on the floor. She made a halfhearted attempt to grab his ankle when he passed her, but he dodged her grasp. There was an expression of deep sorrow on his face when he saw her tear streaked one, but he still shut the door.

The rasp of the padlock sliding shut sounded so very final.

***

Ariadne was curled on the couch the next time Arthur arrived with food, drinks and the intention to swap out clothes and linens. She had found the broken pieces of razor blades, but they were poor substitutes for a screwdriver and she had cut open the ball of her thumb twice. She felt terrible and cramping, and she knew exactly why. Arthur might have gotten most of her needs met, but she was about to get her period and there was not a single sanitary napkin or tampon in the bathroom. She was going to have to ask him for something, which meant that she couldn't try to slice his throat open with the one remaining razor blade from the broken razor. There were more disposable razors in the bathroom, so she was quite possibly the most smoothly shaven she had ever been in her life. There wasn't much else to do with her day; she couldn't stand solitaire and she had gone through the book in two hours.

"How are you doing?" he asked her in an even tone, depositing everything onto the empty desk. She shrugged and kept her arms wrapped around her middle.

"I'll do your laundry, but you're going to have to put everything into this bag," he said, holding out a cloth laundry bag.

Ariadne stood up slowly and cleared her throat. "I, uh, I need stuff for my period," she said, keeping her eyes trained on a spot along his hairline. "You forgot about that part."

"Ah." He nodded. "I didn't see anything in your bathroom, so I didn't think of it." She was already in the bathroom collecting towels, so he didn't see her cringe at knowing he had been in her apartment. "What brand should I get?"

Her stomach turned as she answered, shoving her used clothing into the laundry bag. She handed it to him, her arm thrust out and her chin stubbornly set. On some level, she knew she shouldn't be ashamed of this. On another, she was angry; she shouldn't have had to ask him for anything. She should've been able to simply run to the store herself if she was out of supplies. He was making her dependent on his goodwill for everything, and she resented it.

Arthur's hand slid along the back of hers as he took the laundry bag, and Ariadne jerked away from his touch. "You're angry with me," he commented.

She glared at him. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

He grinned, appearing genuinely amused. "I'm keeping you safe, Ariadne. Why does that make you so angry?"

"I can keep myself safe just fine, dammit. I don't need you snatching me away from everything I know to do whatever the hell it is you want to do!"

The grin slid right off of his face. "Oh."

"Yes, _oh,"_ Ariadne mimicked, bitterness in her voice. "That's all you can say?"

"From your point of view, I'm no better than they are."

Ariadne wanted to hit him. That bland face was irritating. She wanted him to feel something, wanted him to understand how hurt and frustrated and angry and scared she was. But she was also certain that it would ultimately lead to her death, and she hated him for that, too.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Arthur said, backing up toward the door. She was at least gratified to see that he wasn't taking any chances with her. "I can only hope someday you'll forgive me for all of this."

Ariadne waited until the door was locked again before screaming at it.

***  
***


	5. A Hole In You And Me

There was chocolate in the next food drop, along with the supplies that Ariadne had requested and the finished laundry. She had listened to the sound of the washing machine and dryer through the wall, a steady low hum that was almost comforting. It was a normal sound, something that ordinary people did. She could almost close her eyes and pretend she was in the laundry room in her building as opposed to being kept captive for over two weeks.

It was worse because she was having nightmares now, and she was fairly certain that Arthur knew about it.

She could hear him moving around upstairs. The insulation couldn't be that thick in the basement, though no one seemed to hear her screaming during the day. Wherever he had been before, now Arthur was staying in the house on a regular basis. There were sounds that could have been a dishwasher, and the heat/cool cycle of the boiler kicked on and off more frequently. The light was continually on in the room, but Ariadne could fall asleep anytime, anywhere. The light didn't bother her or disrupt her sleep.

It was knowing she couldn't leave. It was knowing that Arthur was walking around, holding her captive.

She knew when she was dreaming, but she had never been a lucid dreamer. For all of her ability in the dream world, she had never been able to manipulate her own dreams that way. They always seemed to move of their own volition, despite her fear or wish to change things. She was an observer or a participant, sometimes both at once, but she could never seem to take charge in her dreams.

She had never known the name of the man that had kidnapped her. He never told her what to call him, for all the time that they had spent in the dream world. He hadn't been interested in her ability to talk, after all. In her dreams, he was silent and loomed large over her. She was ten again, small and caught in his web. She was tangled up in IV lines that dispensed somnacin, and while she could watch her childhood self struggle, she couldn't reach out to untangle the lines to get the girl free. The somnacin dripped, oily and evil, coating the ten year old Ariadne in a black, viscous shell. Ariadne screamed, trying to wipe it off of the younger Ariadne's mouth and eyes, but it kept pouring out of the lines, kept covering her. When the girl's mouth opened, more poured out. More seeped out through her eyes, and her dark hair became nothing but oily black goo. Somnacin wasn't black in real life, but it was in this dream. The goo streamed down from the child's skull, then hit the floor and shattered into droplets.

Then the looming shadow towered over Ariadne, and she screamed herself awake.

***

Arthur closed the door behind him when he came to bring Ariadne things. He pulled the chair from the desk and sat on it before passing her a Hershey bar. "Maybe that'll help you feel better," he murmured.

"Thanks," she replied, taking it. He watched her unwrap it slowly, and she felt as though her skin was crawling. "What?"

"What are your nightmares about?"

Ariadne shot him a churlish look. "Why do you care?"

He sighed. "I'm trying to help you, Ariadne."

It was maddening to keep hearing that repeatedly. "It's not helping me to keep me here."

"Do you have any idea what Cobb would have done to you?"

She curled her lip at him in derision and pointed at him with the chocolate bar. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"He makes people sacrifice for him, and takes no responsibility for it. He uses people to get what he wants. His wife is a pathologist. She should have been promoted at least a dozen times over by now, but that would take him out of DC and out of the chain of advancement. So they stay."

"You have no idea what kind of relationship they have..."

"He picks the best and brightest dreamers and grinds them to dust," Arthur continued as if she hadn't spoken. "They get flat and useless after a while. There's no imagination, no spark, no fire. They just burn out, and he sets them loose to other departments. Turnover is high in the SCU, and it's not because they can't do the job. After a while, they can't do the job that he wants them to do. They can't dream anymore."

Ariadne thought of Cobol as she bit into the Hershey bar and was silent. Arthur may have a point, though she wasn't willing to concede it.

"How far do you think he would have pushed you if I hadn't intervened?" he asked quietly.

Ariadne flinched, and that was answer enough.

"I watch people," he said in that same quiet, lulling tone. "I can read people. Traumatized kids always can. So says the research, anyway. We know how to look at people, how to gauge their reactions, how to become the people they want us to be. We do it so we don't get hurt again, so we're liked, so people think we're as real as they are."

"I'm real," Ariadne sputtered hotly. "Don't you even start."

"What was your nightmare about?"

She looked way, feeling the chocolate bar melting within its wrapper under her fingers. She took a bite and chewed slowly, though it didn't taste like anything anymore.

"Ariadne." She didn't look at him, didn't respond. He moved to sit beside her on the couch, and he rested his hand on her arm. "Ariadne, it's okay. I understand."

"Shut up," she said, jaw tightening. She refused to look at him. She refused to acknowledge this. She was better than this, stronger than this. She wasn't a weak little girl any longer.

"I had a sister," Arthur said abruptly. "We were taken when I was eight and she was three. They found me, but they never found her."

Ariadne turned to look at him, eyes large and shining, lips stuck together. _What happened?_ she almost wanted to ask, but that would imply caring, and she didn't want to care.

"We were in the playground near our house. My mother turned away for just a second, but that was all it took. That was all it ever took." Arthur's voice was steady, but his eyes burned through her. His fingers moved restlessly over her arm, the only other sign that something was wrong. "I had to watch what he did to her, and she had to watch what he did to me. He made us do things to each other while he watched. It went on forever, it seemed like. And one day while I was under, she wasn't. I didn't know how long I was under, but I could barely move when they found me, and I was in the hospital for two months."

"I'm sorry," Ariadne rasped.

"Ask me how long I was away," he said, his hand suddenly tight around her arm like a vise. She shook her head, unable to speak. _"Ask me."_

"How long were you gone?" Ariadne asked, voice hoarse and throat closed tight.

"Two days."

Ariadne sucked in a breath when Arthur let go of her arm. She had been gone for three.

He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against her temple. "So I do know, Ariadne," he murmured against her skin. "I know exactly what it's like."

Ariadne shut her eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. She could feel Arthur wind an arm around her shoulders, almost embracing her. All she had to do was lean into it, take the comfort and understanding that he offered.

It was tempting. It was more tempting than it should have been.

It took every ounce of strength that Ariadne possessed to hold herself still and away from his touch, to keep from leaning in and pretending that it would all be okay. Arthur's fingers trailed across her shoulder in a comforting gesture, his touch a light caress. His lips were still near her temple, his breath warm against her skin. She had been held by an ex-boyfriend like this once; he was an ex because he hadn't been able to handle the thought of her doing better than he did on exams in college.

Arthur moved to kiss her cheek, then pulled back, his fingers trailing along the back of her neck. She shivered at the contact and pulled her arms in around herself tightly. Damn her sensitive skin. Damn the fact that she had even noticed he was handsome. Damn it all to hell that she was a premenstrual wreck. Usually she was better than this. Usually she could just run it off and be done with it, then focus on her work. But she had no outlets here, nothing to do but jog in place, and that didn't do it for her the same way that running outside did.

"You don't like that I touch you," Arthur observed.

Ariadne could hear disappointment in his tone, and her stomach twisted. She was only afraid he wouldn't come back. That was it. She was only afraid that he would leave her to starve to death. She didn't care what he thought. She couldn't.

"Would you prefer if I didn't?" he continued. His voice sounded so neutral, but Ariadne could hear cadences in it. His expressions were mostly blank, but she was starting to realize it was his body language and his eyes that told the real story. "Ariadne?"

"Do you have to do it?" she asked instead of answering, her eyes fixed to the floor. "Is this how I'm supposed to earn food and clothes?"

At his indrawn hiss of breath, she looked up. He looked as if she had struck him, as if he couldn't even begin to figure out how to respond to her.

Guiltily, Ariadne looked down at the floor again. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"Ariadne," he began, his voice raw sounding. "Look at me."

After a moment's pause, she did so. "What is it?"

"I would never hurt you. Never." There was something fierce in his expression, something almost frightening to behold. "I know you don't know me yet. You're scared, and you're still convinced I'm going to hurt you somehow. You don't know what you're saying. I can forgive this." He backed up a step and left behind another bag of food for her. "Perhaps we need some time apart."

 _Yes, we do. I need to find a way out of here,_ Ariadne thought, her arms still tight around her middle. When Arthur left the room, it only occurred to her that he was her only source of food, water and clean towels. She heaved a sigh and covered her face in her hands. Fuck.

***

Ariadne came to in a darkened room, a hand stroking her cheek gently. This was different; over the past week and a half, Arthur had simply dropped off food and left the room without saying a word. There was soft light coming in from the doorway, and she could make out the dim profile of Arthur's face. Her breath caught around a scream, and she made a choking sound that alerted Arthur she was awake. "Is it worse because you're here?" he asked. There was no inflection in his tone, and Ariadne didn't know how she should answer the question. Arthur pushed her hair aside, his touch gentle. He traced the curve of her ear. "I didn't think this would make you remember, too. I should have thought of that. I should have known about that."

She could hear the self castigation in his voice, and it hurt to hear. She shifted position on the couch so that she was lying on her back, looking up at his drawn expression. It was startling to see some kind of emotion on his face. Or maybe she was just learning how to read him. "You couldn't have known. You don't know me very well."

His hand was just about cupping her face, and he drew his fingers across her lips. Ariadne managed not to flinch or suck in a breath at the contact. "I've studied you. I've memorized your entire profile. I've been in the same place you were. _I should have known."_

"You can't know everything," she protested.

Arthur shook his head. "It's my business to know things about people."

"The Ghost Network, you mean," Ariadne guessed. There was no point in hiding the fact that she knew about its existence.

He smiled, and she could see the dim light flash against his teeth. "Not just that. You've been very resourceful, Ariadne."

"Are you going to hurt Yusuf?"

Arthur frowned at her. "Why would I?"

"Because he told us about it. He gave me his access codes."

"Of course he did. He wouldn't want to be arrested or go to prison. Prison wouldn't be good for a man like him," Arthur said with a shrug. "He cares about the sleepers, he does what he can to make sure they get what they need in a respectful way." His fingers brushed across her jawline. "It's a calling for him, I can see that. He's done his work to make their lives better, at cost to his own. I understand he needed to work with the FBI to stay in the business and to stay out of jail. I don't punish self preservation."

"Then what do you punish?"

"What was done to us. The abuses in the system." Arthur ran his fingers across her parted lips. "There are no laws against it, you know. The government and military has its monopoly, so there's no need for them to really regulate anything. They don't need to. So directors or observers can do whatever they like, and the sleepers can't do a thing about it. It's especially true in the underground, you know that."

"It still falls under current law..."

Arthur covered her mouth with his palm, his long fingers curling over her cheek. "What was done to us never would. No physical evidence. It would be charged as kidnapping and giving drugs to a minor. There would be no charges for rape, no charges for endangering our welfare. It was just a dream, after all. The law thinks we can forget it ever happened, forget that we lived for months or years under the somnacin." There was a hard, frightening edge to his tone. "They do it again. Like any other predator, any other pedophile. There's nothing to stop them, nothing to make them _want_ to stop."

"Is that why you created the network?" Ariadne asked, pulling his hand away from her mouth.

He gave a short, bitter laugh. "No. But when I realized what it could be used for..." His eyes flashed in the dim light. "They still don't understand. They just complain, but no one does anything about it. Your friend Yusuf at least created new compounds in response to complaints about side effects. If someone abuses their power, though, all Network users can do is complain. There's no way to police it if the director has a monopoly in an area."

"You police it."

Arthur's hand fell to the rise of her chest, though he made no move to fondle her. "Yeah. Someone has to."

"Why you?"

"Why not me?" He glanced at her with an empty expression. "Why not you?"

"I work with the SCU. It _is_ me."

He flashed her a sardonic smile. "Did you ever really get to do that, though? Did you ever really punish them for their true crimes? Or was it all for illegal distribution of somnacin and breaking patent laws?"

Ariadne managed not to sigh, because he was exactly right. "They still get punished."

Arthur leaned forward, face hovering over hers. "The punishment has to fit the crime, Ariadne. Otherwise, they learned nothing."

"How can they learn anything if they're dead?" she asked, voice sharp.

He laughed, and almost looked like an ordinary kind of handsome. "They don't die right away. They don't die until they beg for it."

Ariadne shivered and looked away from his face. She could still see him out of the corner of her eye, even though she was facing the side of the couch. "Just because you can doesn't mean that it's right."

"Oh, Ariadne," he sighed, pressing his forehead against her temple. "Somehow you managed to become an idealist."

"We know what they're capable of, right? Then that means we have to be better than that. We have to show them how it should be done," she insisted. She stiffened as Arthur shifted position, his arm coming to lie over her stomach.

"I should show you what I do," Arthur murmured, lips near her ear. "You can't judge what you don't understand."

"I know what it's like in the dreamscape."

He smiled, and she could almost feel it against her skin. "I saw. Professor Miles was most impressed with all of your test scores. He couldn't understand how you could be so talented. One of the brightest minds he ever had the pleasure to teach, he said." His hand moved restlessly over her stomach, and Ariadne found it hard to breathe. "I would love to see that. I would love to see how you move in the dreamscape. He said you were a natural, that you had a gift at manipulating the dream."

"You're going to put me under?" she gasped, eyes wide. She couldn't tell if she was afraid or excited. Perhaps she could convince him to let her leave...

"Would you come with me?" Arthur murmured against her ear. "I've been working alone for such a long time. Come with me, into the dream." He was almost crooning against her ear, his breath warm against her skin. Ariadne shivered, and idly wondered why she wasn't pushing him away. "It would be so beautiful."

She could convince him to let her go. She could go into his dreams and find out what he was afraid of. She could find out more about him, could draw him out and make him trip up. As soon as he made a mistake, she could escape and get back to the FBI. She could make this work to her advantage.

"Yes," she whispered, making sure to sound almost reluctant. Her heart hammered in her chest as his lips brushed across her cheek, as his hand tightened on her shirt. "Yes, I'll go into the dream with you."

"Thank you," he breathed. Arthur shifted and moved so that his lips were just over hers. "Thank you." His kiss was soft and gentle, but it rocked her to her toes. Ariadne gasped at the sensation of it, and her mouth opened under his. Arthur shifted his hand to slide beneath her shirt. He kept his hand over the skin of her stomach and her side, and didn't wander anywhere else. His tongue darted out to touch her lips, exploring slowly. It was electric when his tongue touched hers; it had been too many years since she had been kissed like that. Ariadne made a soft noise deep in her throat that might have been encouragement, and Arthur smiled against her lips.

He pulled back slowly, fingers gently stroking the skin of her side. "You're wonderful, Ariadne. That's why I had to do this. The dream will be fantastic."

Afterward, Ariadne touched her lips with her fingers as she lay in the dark. The rasp of the lock sliding into place was impossibly loud, and she could still feel the pressure of his lips against hers. She could still feel the soft slide of his hand across her skin. She was almost looking forward to the dreaming.

She was in serious trouble.

 

***  
***


	6. Catching The Princess

The sky was a beautiful shade of violet as the sun went down, and the park was deserted. "Is this where it happened?" Ariadne asked Arthur, sitting on a swing. He nodded, leaning against the swing support. There were slides and a small jungle gym nearby, and one of those spinning things Ariadne couldn't remember the name to. She had hated them as a kid; the vertigo had reminded her too much of falling under somnacin. "What was her name?"

"Gabrielle," Arthur murmured, and Ariadne could see a toddler start to run across the park. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with bright pink and blue flowers on it, her brown hair tied up in pigtails. She was chased by a boy older than she was, with dark hair, worn sneakers and scabs on his knees. "That's me," he said unnecessarily.

Ariadne watched them chase each other around the empty park. "She's beautiful." She turned to look at him. "You were so good with her."

"She was my responsibility. I was the older brother. I was supposed to take care of her."

 _Do you feel that way about me now?_ Ariadne almost asked. But feelings were tangled, knotty things, and she didn't want to open a can of worms she couldn't close.

"My parents divorced a year later. They couldn't handle it, not knowing what happened. Thousands of kids go missing every year. She was just another statistic to the police, just another lost kid with no evidence and no motive, no ransom note. It might have been easier to have a note, to think it was their money that was the reason she was taken." Arthur shoved his hands deeply into his pockets and looked at his younger self chase his sister around the park. "But after what I told everyone, they knew that money wasn't the reason."

"What happened after?" Ariadne asked, eyes locked to the children chasing each other. They were so innocent, and it had been so long ago.

"Life happened," Arthur answered simply. He shrugged when Ariadne turned to look at him. "What could they say? They didn't understand what happened to me, couldn't understand the nightmares or the startles or why I started wetting the bed when it stormed outside. They couldn't look at each other, couldn't talk to each other. If they couldn't get a grip on themselves, how were they supposed to help me?" He looked over at the children and sighed deeply. They winked out of existence. "Having money doesn't mean you know what to do with it. They weren't prepared for disaster."

"They didn't send you to a sleep lab?"

He laughed bitterly, and the park shifted to a waiting room. Ariadne was in a white, sterile environment. It was almost too bright after the park, and she blinked rapidly. "Sure they did," Arthur said, sweeping his arms out to take in the waiting area. "It was just as bad as the warehouse he took us to."

Nurses in white scrubs and orthotic shoes walked around, clipboards in hand. They greeted a couple that suddenly appeared, and took them to the back. When the door separating the waiting area from the exam rooms was opened, Ariadne could hear the faint sound of screaming. She turned to look at Arthur, rising to her feet. "Arthur..."

"Yeah, that's me. They couldn't understand how it all went so wrong." He reached out to take Ariadne's hand, and she unthinkingly grasped his hand tightly. "They blamed each other and it fell apart. Your parents didn't do that." Ariadne shook her head silently. Her parents had nearly gone bankrupt to get her the sessions she needed, but they had done it and made sure that Ariadne was okay. "You were the lucky one."

The waiting area faded until they were in an open field. "Where are we now?" Ariadne asked, her head cocked to the side.

"This is the place I used to dream about, before the nightmares came." He swept his free arm out and around them. "Go on. Do your thing."

"What?"

"Show me what you can do. Go nuts." Arthur grinned at her, his eyes lighting up. "Build something great."

She wanted to protest, that this wasn't what she was here for. But she could see the younger version of Arthur and Gabrielle in her mind's eye, could hear their laughter in the park. That child was long gone now, lost inside a monster's PASIV and lust.

The world shifted, and they were in Paris. She had done a semester abroad in college, and she was now borrowing her architecture heavily from her time in the Quartier Latin. Arthur seemed delighted, and laughed as she started playing around with the streets and buildings. They shot impossibly high into the air, and a street curved up to meet it. One building had a fire escape that went nowhere, and passersby were able to walk above them on the curved street.

Arthur pulled her close by her waist, laughing. It was almost like an impromptu waltz, and Ariadne let him whirl her around in circles. "Take me in," he whispered as he spun her. "Go in further, show me what you can really do."

She wanted to protest that there was nothing else, that this was the only level they needed to go into. But his hands slid low along her back, pulling her flush against him, and Ariadne felt almost as if she was drowning in his gaze. She opened her mouth and found that they were falling, air rushing upward all around them. She curled inward, grasping hold of Arthur and tucking her face against his chest to protect her eyes from the whistling wind. His arms tightened around her, holding her close. His heartbeat was steady beneath her ear as he said "I'll protect you, Ariadne. I'll always keep you safe."

They fetched up outside a castle, a forest nearby. There was a single tower in the castle, a white sheet hanging outside of the window. It seemed almost as if someone was dangling from it, but it was hard to tell at that distance.

"We should save her," Arthur told Ariadne, and she could see that the figure was indeed a woman. Her legs were flailing inside of her dress, an exquisite ball gown. She was hanging on for dear life, afraid she was going to lose herself. "We can be her knights in shining armor."

They were astride horses, lances in hand and gleaming next to their dingy armor. Ariadne almost wanted to protest that she wasn't a knight, but she stopped herself. She was dreaming, and she was an FBI agent in real life. She could translate the same skills to the dream world, and a lance was simply a really long baton. Other knights on horseback appeared at the base of the castle. "Are those your projections?" she asked, looking over at Arthur.

"How do you know they aren't yours?" he countered, amused.

"This isn't _my_ dream," Ariadne contested.

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked, voice arch in challenge.

Ariadne opened her mouth to answer, but the knights across the field started to bellow a challenge. She sighed instead and shook her head. "Let's go save the princess."

Using the lance was easier than Ariadne had thought it would be. When the knights were thrown from their horses, they tried to take up swords to go after Ariadne and Arthur. Ignoring the screams from above, Ariadne seized a sword and began to fight with one of the knights attacking her. She had never used one before, but this was a dream. She could do anything in it, and she found herself moving like actors in movies did. She shifted the ground beneath their feet. Arthur was able to move quickly, but the dream knights didn't know what was happening and stumbled. Ariadne stabbed one in the chest, and it disappeared in a puff of smoke. Arthur did the same for the two that he was battling, then looked up as the screaming seemed to grow louder. "Look up!"

Ariadne looked up and caught the falling princess in her arms. The princess was petite, swathed in silk and satin and lace, wearing Ariadne's sixteen year old face. Startled, Ariadne nearly dropped her. She looked up at Arthur, who was amused and no longer wearing the armor. "You were beautiful back then."

Ariadne wasn't wearing armor herself anymore. She couldn't feel its weight, and even the weight of the princess was ghostly. She turned back to the girl in her arms and found that the princess' figure was small and almost like a doll. The princess mouthed "Thank you," but her voice was so soft and hard to hear that it almost didn't exist. Ariadne was wearing the princess' dress, the train extending behind her. "Arthur," she began, brows knit in confusion. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. It's all you," he said with a shrug, extending his arm for her to take. He was dressed as a nobleman to match her princess garb.

She was about to protest that she couldn't take his arm, but the doll in her arms was gone. Reluctantly she took his arm, and he spun her about in a circle so that their bodies crashed into each other. His hands were heavy about her waist, his gaze intense on hers. "I'm not a princess in a tower," she protested.

"You're my princess," Arthur murmured, lips curled into a soft smile. He ran one hand along her spine, and the dress seemed to dissolve. Her front was covered, but now the back of the dress and the train were gone. "You're beautiful, Ariadne."

She opened her mouth to contradict him, but he kissed her. It was hot and open, his tongue in her mouth and his hand along the bare skin of her back. The other hand was fisted in the skirt of the dress, pulling and lifting the fabric. Ariadne could feel a bolt of pure desire shoot through her, pooling between her legs. Gasping, she pushed him back and covered her mouth with her hands. She shook her head desperately as he flew backward, fetching up against a tree.

Arthur approached slowly, taking in her agitated state and the tears in her eyes. "You don't want to feel this, but you do," he murmured. "We're connected."

"You kidnapped me," Ariadne gasped, leveling a finger at him. "You did this to me. I was _fine_ before. You ruined everything!"

He was suddenly in front of her and grasped her wrists. She was pressed up against the wall of the castle, rough stone biting into the skin of her back. "I didn't ruin your life, Ariadne. I opened your eyes to what was going on. That's what this is about, isn't it? You don't want to see. You don't want to understand. You want to think this is something I made up, that I'm some kind of ruthless killer that will do nothing but hurt you."

"Aren't you?" she countered.

"I do what I have to, same as you," Arthur told her evenly. "This isn't my dream, Ariadne, it's yours. You're the dreamer. I'm in _your_ dream. You're the one with the princess locked in the tower that needs to be saved." He let go of one wrist to caress her face. "You locked her away, Ariadne. You kept her safe, but you kept her shut up from the world. You're afraid of what will happen if she is set free."

"No one will ever hurt her again," Ariadne answered, though she didn't understand what she said a moment later.

"No, they won't," Arthur agreed, nodding. He grasped her face in both hands. "Let me help you, Ariadne. I want to protect her, too. I want to be a part of her life."

"I don't know how," she whispered.

"Let me help you," Arthur murmured, leaning in to kiss her. "Ariadne, let me in."

She responded to his kiss, melting beneath the touch of his lips to hers. Arthur's hands were comforting, and she grasped his arms for balance. His hands moved down to caress her neck, and Ariadne caught hold of his shirt. He was dressed in a button down shirt now, with carefully pressed slacks and wingtip shoes, his hair slicked back. The princess dress had changed into her dove gray skirt suit and maroon blouse. His kiss was slow and methodical, tongue between her lips as his hands slid beneath the edge of her suit jacket and over the sateen blouse to slide around her waist. He kissed her, tongue moving to stroke hers rhythmically. She wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes, feeling herself get lost in the sensation of it, drowning in the scent of him. He broke the kiss for air, still feeling the presence of her lips against his. He kept his eyes on her face, watching her lips part as she gasped for air. Her face said it all, that she wanted him inside her, that she couldn't believe this was really happening.

Gravity shifted, and she was on her back on a bed, Arthur supporting his weight on either side of her. They were in a generic hotel room, the sheets soft beneath her. "I love your hair," Arthur murmured, brushing his fingers across it, pulling out the pins and letting it tumble from her updo. He combed his fingers through her dark hair, watching it as it slipped through his fingers. He smiled gently at her. "I want to do things the right way with you, Ariadne," he said softly. "I want this to be perfect."

"It will be," Ariadne murmured, her hand resting against his chest. She could feel his heart beating beneath her palm, and the buttons slid easily through the holes.

Once she got his shirt unbuttoned, she slid her hands against the skin of his chest and pulled him down on top of her. Their mouths met again, devouring each other hungrily. It was like kissing fire, or touching pure electricity. Something was happening between them, something odd and strange and almost frightening. Her mouth opened beneath his, and his tongue slid in to touch hers. The jolt between them made them both gasp. "More," Ariadne whimpered against his mouth, spreading her legs wide. Her skirt rode up her hips, and Arthur traced one stockinged thigh with his fingertips. "God, I need _more."_

Pulling his shirt from his waistband, Ariadne slid her hands along his back. Arthur groaned; the contact of her hands against his skin was utterly electric. He pushed thighs further apart, lifting the skirt of her suit. Frustrated with the stockings, he tugged and pulled at them until they shredded and Ariadne laughed. He knelt between her legs, and she helped to peel the pantyhose away from the skin. Arthur touched the bared skin of her thighs, fingertips ghosting over the insides of her thighs. "Arthur," she whined. "C'mon, just touch me already."

Arthur grinned at her, shrugging out of the shirt. Ariadne took off the suit jacket, flinging it off into a corner of the room. She smiled shyly at him, sitting on the bed with her skirt hiked up above her waist and her hair all tousled. Arthur gently pushed her back down onto the bed and moved down the length of her body. She whimpered when he pressed his mouth to her center, when he started tracing her folds with his lips. She tangled her fingers in his hair, back arching up as she gasped for breath. She spread her legs wide to give him better access, and she tasted like honey on his tongue. Arthur traced her folds with his fingertips and then slipped one inside. She made a keening sound, high and needy. He moved slowly and deliberately according to the sounds she made, and it wasn't long until she fell apart in his hands. He kept his tongue on her clit, guiding her down from the high before he withdrew and licked his lips. "Arthur," she whimpered, reaching for him.

She made a soft sigh of contentment when he slid his fingers inside of her, pumping them in and out roughly. Ariadne writhed beneath him, legs twitching restlessly. He touched his tongue to the seam of her mouth, then touched her tongue when she parted her lips. She moaned into his mouth as her body clenched down hard on his fingers, her hands pulling at the sheets. He brushed his thumb across her clit, making her gasp in pleasure. He was half hard already, and she was hardly even touching him. Ariadne came again, tight and slick around his fingers, head thrown back. She grasped his waist and fumbled with the belt and button on his slacks. Arthur got rid of them quickly, then moved to kneel between her spread legs. "Ariadne," he rasped, hands sliding along her thighs. He wanted this so much he was trembling.

"Arthur," she moaned, reaching up to grasp his hips. "Now, I need you inside me now..."

He thrust into her wet heat, and she muffled a soft keening noise by kissing his mouth. It was a rough kiss, her tongue sliding into his mouth possessively as she held him close. Arthur didn't care about that. The sensation of her was overwhelming, as if he was drowning in her. And when he opened his eyes, he could see her rapt expression looking up at his stunned one. _Mine,_ he thought incoherently, mouth falling open as he struggled for breath. _She's all mine._

He moved inside of her with deep strokes, and she raked her nails across his back. She was wet and slippery, and Arthur reveled in the feel of her. She was _perfect,_ better than he had imagined, and all the struggles up to this point had been worth it. She tightened around him, head thrown back as she gasped and moaned. He grit his teeth to try to draw it out, but he was coming inside of her with a strangled groan. Arthur thumbed her clit hard, and Ariadne came with a cry, fingernails digging into his buttocks hard.

Arthur curled up around her, his face pressed against the side of hers. Her hair was caught beneath him, and he slipped his hand down across her bared stomach. She was still wearing her blouse and skirt, both rucked up and wrinkled beyond repair. After a moment he tugged them off of her body, until she lay bare in front of him. Ariadne watched him look at her, his hand sliding across her stomach in slow circles. He shifted and propped himself up on one elbow. Watching her expression, he let his fingers wander lower down, before sliding between her legs again. She looked at him, startled, and Arthur grinned unrepentantly before bending down to take a nipple between his lips.

"Arthur," Ariadne gasped, sliding a hand through his hair. She didn't know whether to tug his mouth away or urge him to take more in. "What are you...? You just," she gasped, before arching into his touch. "Oh, god, don't stop."

"You're a gift to be savored," he said as he moved from one breast to the other. His lips hovered over her skin, and he looked up at her dazed expression. "Got a problem with that?"

"N-no," she gasped as his fingers slid deeply inside her, his thumb at her over-sensitized clit. "Oh, there," she moaned. She let out a choked moan as his lips closed over her breast and he sucked gently, fingers moving and curling inside her. Ariadne slid her hands along his back and shoulders, feeling the play of muscle beneath skin, the faint sheen of sweat there. Arthur curled his fingers upward, hitting a particular spot that had Ariadne's hips jerking in his hands as she cried out. Arthur kept going at a punishing pace until she clenched down hard around his fingers and came with a keening sound.

She moaned softly as she lay limply against the tangled sheets, eyes tracking his movement as he continued working her body with his fingers and mouth. She reached down along his back as far as she could reach, nails scraping along the skin. "Keep doing that," she whimpered, lips parted as she tried to draw in breath. "Arthur..."

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a grin, pushing his fingers harder inside of her. She cried out and canted her hips, legs shifting restlessly across the sheets. He shifted position, kneeling beside her, and he hissed when she grasped his length and started to stroke him.

He withdrew his fingers when she came again, and moved her so that she was on all fours on the bed. He layered kisses along her spine, running his slicked fingers across her skin. Ariadne's breath was shallow, the scent of her passion overwhelming. "I love you," he whispered against the skin of her neck. She turned her head to look at him in surprise. "I love you," he repeated, stroking her back. "More than I ever thought possible."

"Arthur," she whispered, not sure what to say.

He pressed his fingers against her lips. "It's okay. Don't say anything. You don't have to. It doesn't matter," he said with a crooked smile and a shake of his head. "It's all right if you don't love me back. Maybe you will one day."

"But..."

He moved behind her, then slid inside her slicked passage. She let out a contented sigh at the feel of him inside of her, and he began to thrust into her with long, sure strokes. Arthur kept hold of her hips as he rocked against her, a hum deep within his throat. He let his eyes fall closed, reveling in the feel of her. _I love you_ rang like an echo between them, something he wasn't afraid to say but she was afraid to hear.

She came, clenching down around him tightly. The sheets were caught up in her fists, and her face was pressed down into the bed to muffle her cries. Arthur let go of her hips, and came down to his side on the bed. "Get on top of me," he murmured, pulling at her hips to add to the suggestion. "I want to watch you come."

Limbs loose and like jelly, Ariadne climbed on top of Arthur, her hands sliding across his chest. She guided him into her, sighing as she sank down over him. She moved slowly at first, her breath catching in her throat at the expression on his face. Throwing her head back, Ariadne let her eyes slide shut. Arthur's hand slid over her stomach, then one moved up to catch a breast between his fingers. He rolled the nipple gently, then tugged sharply at her gasp of pleasure. She undulated over him, hands sliding further to curl around his shoulders.

"Oh, god," Ariadne moaned, eyes falling open. The expression on her face was one of wonder and pleasure, and Arthur cupped her cheek in one hand. "This feels... You feel so good," she gasped, her hand tightening into his shoulder.

"Come for me," Arthur whispered, pulling at her nipple. He slid the hand at her face down to her neck, to the curve where it met her shoulder. "I need to see you." She was tight around him, growing tighter still. Even as desensitized as he was from coming once already, he could tell that he was close to coming again.

He would never be able to get enough of her. He would never be able to let her go.

Ariadne whimpered as she ground harder against him, rocking faster. Arthur slid his second hand to her other breast, thumbing her peaked nipples. She cried out, back arched and head thrown back, eyes shut as she convulsed on top of him. Her entire body clenched tight and hard, and she rode out her orgasm, milking him. Arthur pulled at her hips as he thrust up against her, spilling deep inside her again.

Ariadne fell on top of him, breath coming in soft pants. Her face was in the crook of his neck, and he curled his arms around her back to cradle her.

It felt right. It felt as if this had always been meant to happen, as if her body had been molded specifically to fit his. Everything in her life had led her on the path to him, making sure that they would meet, that this would happen.

It was frightening how content she felt, how utterly perfect it was to feel his rapid heart thudding in his chest beneath hers. They _fit,_ and she was comfortable in a way she often wasn't with other people.

But how had her life come to this?

"How twisted am I?" she whispered, hands curling into loose fists on either side of him. The sheets were tangled up beneath them, and she pulled at him in a fit of pique. She raised herself up to her elbows to look down at him, breath shallow in her chest. "I'm some kind of twisted freak now, aren't I?"

"Only as twisted as you let yourself believe you are. You're stronger than what happened to you, Ariadne. One day, we'll be able to set it all right again."

He cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs caressing her lips gently, reverently. He obviously believed what he was telling her. He cared about her, for her. He wanted the world at her feet, wanted everything to be just right for her.

And he killed ruthlessly, mercilessly, sliding through laws and security codes like a ghost. He didn't exist, didn't leave a trail. There was a stillness inside of him, a frightening emptiness that Ariadne would never be able to touch. He was hollow inside, carved out and left for dead by a nameless and faceless monster that had him dreaming of darkness for days that felt like years on end. Arthur was everything she had hoped never to be, everything she had worked so hard to fight. He was her very antithesis.

Arthur also was the one that understood her, cherishing every last part of her soul. Her history didn't frighten him away and didn't excite him with all the ways he could use it. It was simply another thing that had happened to her, another facet of her past that led up to the person that she was at the moment.

"I don't know if I can," Ariadne whispered, tracing the curve of his jaw with a fingertip.

He ran his hands along her back, feeling the bumps of her spine beneath his fingers. "Yes, you can. You can do whatever you set your mind to do. You're more than what they would make you out to be. I know this."

"How can you be so sure?"

"You take your pain and use it. You make it work for you. It's not the other way around. It doesn't consume you, it doesn't define you." She nodded, accepting that. "Not everyone can do that. For the longest time, I couldn't."

Ariadne could hear the pain in his quiet voice and could only guess at how horrible it had been for him. "This gives you purpose," she guessed.

"This is how I transform it. This is how I prevent it from ever happening again."

She laid back down on his chest, hearing his heart slow a bit. "I don't know what to do anymore," she whispered softly. She should try to turn him in. She should try to get him to stop. She should contact the FBI and let them know what was going on.

She should. But she didn't think she could.

"Stop thinking so hard," Arthur said, threading his fingers through her hair. "Just be with me for a while. Let go and let me help you."

Ariadne buried her face in the crook of his neck and held on tightly. "I don't know..."

"I do," he said softly, cradling her in his arms. "I'll help you."

She sobbed, her tears surely burning his skin. She was torn in too many different directions, for once in her life unable to pick the path she had to take.

When they finally woke from the dream, only an hour later in real time, Ariadne sat up slowly and took in Arthur's face. She reached out to him, the IV line still in her arm. "Arthur," she whispered, catching his hand in hers.

"Ariadne," he answered, holding on tightly.

She pulled him closer and their lips met. Like in the dream, it felt like static. Her insides were molten, her knees rubbery. Not even bothering to pull the lines, she opened the fly of his pants and unzipped him. She slid a hand inside as he yanked the lines and took off his shirt. Without a word, she ran her hands down his chest then around to trace the curve of his rear. The kiss deepened, and Arthur grasped the back of her neck with one hand, fingers tangling in her dark hair. His other worked at the buttons of her blouse and tried to unhook the clasp of her trousers. Impatiently, she released him long enough to kick out of her clothes.

Tumbling to the floor, it was a tangled mess of lips and teeth and tongue and roaming hands, exploring each other. They knew what it had been like in the dream, and now everything was so vivid. Arthur parted her legs and stroked her damp flesh before sliding inside of her. She moaned and clutched at him, urging him to go faster and harder. Arthur pounded into her, hips working like a piston, and he came with a strangled groan. Ariadne was close, so he grit his teeth and kept going, pushing into her until she clamped tight around him and let out a soft cry.

They lay there on the floor, limbs entwined, breathing heavily in the dim room. For a fleeting moment, Ariadne had _Oh god, what now?_ flitting through her mind. Arthur was warm and snuggled close to her, nuzzling her neck.

It wasn't a dream. This felt just as right and perfect as it had in the dreamscape, but this was real.

"I'll stay with you," she murmured, tangling her fingers in his hair as she held him close. She let her eyes slide shut, but she had already seen his ecstatic smile.

"I love you so much," he whispered next to her ear.

"I know," she returned, burying her face against his. She breathed in deeply, her feelings a shredded mess inside her chest.

Her lips stretched into a smile against his cheek. "I love you, too."

The worst part of it was, she meant it.

***  
***


	7. Inside The Maelstrom

Ariadne was sprawled across Arthur's bed, hands clasped tight on the slats of his headboard. She writhed beneath his mouth, his deft tongue flicking at her. Arthur held her hips still beneath his lips, though her legs still twitched restlessly. She was moaning and making cries that had to be loud enough to be heard through the windows. She should have been afraid of the sounds he coaxed out of her, but dear God in heaven, his touch was like magic. Arthur slid his fingers inside Ariadne as he sucked her clit, and her sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement he needed to continue. He could hear the whimpers deep in her throat as he worked her body, thighs trembling as she held them open for him. Arthur pulled back when she came abruptly, clenching down hard on his fingers, his lips glistening with her moisture. "God, you're so beautiful," he murmured, fingers still moving inside of her.

She let go of the headboard with one hand to thread her fingers into his hair as his mouth closed over a nipple. She moaned incoherently, maybe with words in between broken breaths. _Yes, more, please, Arthur, like that, yes just like that, right there, I love how you feel..._

Arthur let her push him aside, let her straddle his waist and sink deeply on top of him. She rocked against him, slow at first, her hands sliding along his thighs behind her. Arthur's hands trailed across her stomach before reaching up to fondle her breasts. Ariadne hissed at the contact, head thrown back and long dark hair falling to brush against his knees when he drew them up behind her. "Yes," she moaned, beginning to move faster over him. Arthur let out a grunt as he lifted his hips, thrusting deeper inside of her. "Oh god, Arthur, right there... You feel so good..." She came then, milking him hard, and Arthur let out a guttural cry as he came inside her.

She leaned down over him and kissed him, soft and slow, her tongue licking at the seam of his lips. Their tongues danced together, ending only when they needed to breathe. Arthur slid his hand along her jaw, drawing her closer to him. "Good morning," he said with a smile.

Ariadne giggled. She wasn't normally a giggler, but she felt too good to care. "Morning."

He tucked her hair behind her ears when she propped herself up on her elbows. "You're going to have to move at some point, you know," he teased. "We're going to have to clean up."

She shifted her hips playfully over him. "Or I just get him to wake up again..."

He gave her a mock groan. "Woman, you'll be the death of me."

His phone on the bedside table buzzed. It was a distinctive _brrrrrrrm_ kind of ring, meant to get Arthur's attention even if he was hooked up to a PASIV. He sighed and grasped the phone to look at the text. He sighed and placed it back on his bedside table before looking up at Ariadne's inquisitive expression. "Work."

"Work?"

"Yeah. I _do_ have a real job," he told her with a smile.

Ariadne rolled off of him and made a face at the leaking sensation between her thighs. "Oops. I guess you'll have to do the laundry again."

Arthur snickered and headed to the bathroom to clean up. He turned in the doorway and saw her looking at his phone with a hesitant expression on her face. "You can look at it if you want, Ariadne. There's no point in hiding that you're curious."

She made a face at him and picked up his phone. "So what _do_ you do for a living, when you're not going around exacting justice on the evil dreamers of the world?"

He laughed and started to wash up. "Believe it or not, I own a security company."

"Somehow, I believe it," she replied dryly. Ariadne saw the message on his phone _ADS consult @ 1pm, details in e-mail_ and frowned slightly. She couldn't see anything else, as a request for a password popped up. "So what's this?"

Arthur stood in the doorway to his bathroom, drying his hands on a towel. "I do security, both real space and dream security. I'm kind of a big deal in some circles." He flashed her a shy smile and plucked his phone out of her hands. "I can afford to handle only a few special cases personally. That account happens to be one of them."

"That's how you were able to track me down," Ariadne murmured.

He knelt in front of her. "You're good, don't doubt yourself on that point. But I waited until you were vulnerable and feeling more secure. That's why I take them when they leave their homes. They always think they're safe at home." He leaned forward to kiss her knee, then stood to get dressed. "Go on, wash up. It'll take me a while to visit the client from here, so I'll have to leave soon. I should be back in time for dinner. I can stop by and pick up groceries on the way back."

"Or I could do it," Ariadne offered, heart pounding in her chest.

Arthur turned slightly as he put on the boxer briefs. He had a smile on his face that was at once sad and condescending. "No, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Arthur..."

He grasped her face in his hands and tilted it up to look at him. "I love you. I even believe that you love me. But I don't think you trust me yet, and I wouldn't ever ask you to choose between your loyalty to the FBI and your loyalty to me." He ran his thumb over her bottom lip when they parted so she could speak. "No, it's all right, Ariadne. I can be the bad guy for a little longer. I can wait until you're really comfortable with me."

"But..."

He shook his head and went back to the closet, choosing a charcoal gray suit, light blue button down shirt and a maroon tie. "This will work, I think."

Ariadne pulled her knees up to her chest and crossed her arms over them. "So I get locked up in the basement again?" she whispered.

He paused as he buttoned up the shirt. "Yes, but I don't have to lock my workroom, do I?"

"What?"

Arthur deftly finished buttoning up the shirt and tucked it into the dress pants. "The room where you were staying was my workroom. That's what took me so long in getting ready. I had to take my notes out of it and put in the things I bought for you." He leaned over the edge of the bed, tie slung around his neck but undone. "I can let you walk around the rest of the basement, and just lock the door to the upstairs."

"You still don't trust me."

He kissed her forehead, and Ariadne could almost feel his sadness and disappointment in her. "No, I don't."

Ariadne felt cold and numb as she washed up in his bathroom, not even able to meet her eyes in the mirror over the bathroom counter. She felt hollow somehow, though it made no sense. She was sharing his bed now, she knew random things about him and knew just about everything from his fucked up childhood. On some level, she trusted Arthur with her life and trusted his judgment. On another, however, she knew she had to turn him in to the authorities. Even if he was right, even if those perpetrators would never be charged with their actual crimes, she couldn't simply allow a vigilante to assassinate them.

Arthur came up behind her and nuzzled her neck. "I love you," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. His left hand moved to caress her right breast, and his right moved to slide between her thighs. "Don't be mad at me."

"I'm not mad," Ariadne said, her breath fracturing as his fingers found her. She avoided meeting his gaze in the mirror, and her eyes fell to the track marks on the inside of her. She had no idea how much time they had spent together inside and outside of the dreamscape, as her sense of time was warped now. She sucked in a breath as he flicked his fingers across her pert nipple and traced circles around her clit. "Really," she gasped breathlessly. "I'm not mad."

"You're disappointed in me," he whispered against her neck. "But one of us has to be practical. Do you know if you'd run?"

Ariadne stifled a moan as he slid his fingers inside her roughly. "N-no," she admitted, shivering within his grasp. Her damp hands slid across the marble counter top, and she bent over in front of him as she came with a cry. She looked up through her messy hair into the mirror and saw Arthur's flush face, his tie askew and collar undone. He was undoing his belt and trousers, pulling everything down. Ariadne whimpered as he slid inside her, and braced herself against the counter as he thrust into her.

"I love you," he grunted, one hand on her hips and the other returning to fondle her breast. "I will always love you, Ariadne. This might hurt," he gasped, thrusting harder as she tightened around him. "But it would hurt less than leaving you to second guess yourself. Or torture yourself," he added, gritting his teeth to keep from coming right there. "I can't," he gasped, thrusting harder and faster. "I can't stop," he groaned as he came, hand tightening on her breast. "And I know you can't, either."

"Arthur," Ariadne gasped, hips bucking backward as she came hard. "I don't," she began weakly.

He smoothed her hair back. "I won't ask anything of you that you can't give," he murmured. "And I don't want you doubting yourself."

"I do anyway."

He smiled, pressing his lips into her back tenderly. "Not this kind of doubt."

Unable to deny the point, she merely nodded. Arthur pulled out of her and set about to making himself presentable. He helped her clean up, and dropped a kiss on her forehead after she pulled on a nightgown. She didn't make a fuss when he had her go into the basement, and she didn't scream when she heard the lock turn in the basement door. Ariadne could probably kick it open or find something to take apart the door, if she was really feeling industrious.

But Ariadne sat in the basement she had already come to memorize, its layout familiar. There was the spare bedroom that had once been Arthur's workroom and then her prison. The laundry area was next to it, and Arthur had built that small storage area around the house jack in one corner of it. The rest of the basement was more or less finished, but there wasn't much in it. He had a treadmill, an old couch, a TV and DVD player and a stereo that couldn't pick up any local stations. He had stripped her phone of its battery and sim card long ago, so her only comfort in carrying it was its familiar weight in her pocket. Even that she had given up after the first week or so of captivity. He now kept his computers, files and PASIV in a spare bedroom on the first floor. Everything was password protected, he had said, and she believed it. He had no reason to lie to her, after all. She wasn't leaving this house, and she wasn't leaving him.

She didn't know how she felt about that.

***

AD Saito welcomed Eames into his office. "Do sit down, Inspector," he said, indicating one of the plush chairs across from his desk. Eames sat down heavily in it and watched Saito gracefully sit in his forbidding-looking armchair. He looked rather like the king of a castle, the kind of man who could command an army easily. He was good at his job, and Eames respected that. He was also still willing to go the extra mile for his agents, which Eames really respected. He had gone on several occasions to the sleep lab they had set up, and Eames had seen the man's ninja projections at work. It had been impressive. The real reason Eames was sitting in his office was to discuss Ariadne's disappearance. She had been taken over a month ago, and Cobb was writing her off as dead. He didn't even acknowledge his role in the loss, pushing Fischer even harder to become the thing that the Dream Killer hunted. There were few other cases on Cobb's radar now, and he seemed to be consumed by this one particular case. He wanted it done at any cost, unable to see past the fact that he was driving his own team beyond their comfort zones. It was anyone else's fault but his, which Eames couldn't abide.

Saito had nominally put him in VCU, but Eames reported to Saito directly. His one particular case was Ariadne's disappearance. Like Eames, Saito believed that the Dream Killer had taken her. This broke his established pattern and the motive that they had uncovered. "He can be pushed," Saito had said. "So we just need to push harder."

With nothing to go on but the Ghost Network, it was hard to do. Eames and Yusuf often trawled the forums looking for complaints that might strike the Dream Killer's interest, but it was almost as if the community was aware of it now. People were less likely to complain about employers or coworkers now, and there were more and more posts that began "I don't know if outsiders are reading this, but..."

"I have an outside consultant that I've worked with on several occasions," Saito told Eames without preamble. "His expertise is in international security, both physical and dream. He may be aware of things that we are not, now that our primary source of information seems to be drying up." There was a knock at the door. "Ah. There he is now," Saito said with a pleased smile, rising to open the door. "Your timing, as always, is impeccable," Saito told the new arrival.

Eames got up and took a good look at the consultant. He was dressed in a a charcoal gray suit, light blue button down shirt and a maroon tie that was slightly loose but still professional looking. He carried a black leather attache case and seemed genuinely pleased to see Saito, who handled the introductions. "This is Inspector Eames."

"I'm Arthur," the new arrival said, giving Eames a professional smile and handshake when he approached. "Good to meet you."

They all sat down around Saito's massive mahogany desk. Arthur opened his attache case and used a Montblanc pen to take notes in a leather portfolio. There was nothing particularly ostentatious about it, but something about him set Eames' teeth on edge. Something about him was too calm, too practiced.

"We have had a particularly troublesome case, Arthur," Saito began, hands steepled in front of him. "We of course cannot go into explicit details, but there was for a time some hope that an illicit source of information would be helpful."

Arthur lofted an eyebrow at the both of them. "The Ghost Network?"

"Did everyone know about this bloody thing but us?" Eames blurted, annoyed.

Arthur managed not to smile, though Saito scowled. "It's not the only network of its kind, but it's the most... underhanded?" he said, replying to Eames with a helpless shrug at the end. "I'm aware of a few things like that, but a lot of it is done by word of mouth. I'd heard of it, of course. It's hard not to in my line of work."

"Your line of work," Eames repeated dully.

"Defense consultation in this day and age involves physical security, electronic security and even dream security. I've followed Dr. Miles' treatises closely, and the recent papers that have come out are fantastic to work with. I suspect that the underground has been using similar principles for years, though," Arthur said, looking between Saito and Eames. His gaze seemed to be sharpest on Eames' face. "Whatever it is that you're working with, it's dangerous."

"We've lost an agent," Saito admitted reluctantly.

"Lost," Arthur repeated blankly. He turned his attention back to Saito, eyebrow lofted. "What do you mean, lost?"

"We believe she was abducted by the man we are hunting," Saito said, folded hands pressed to his mouth. "She was very resourceful and was a clear asset to our team. I don't want to imagine what this man is doing to her in order to extract information. Assuming she's even alive."

"She's alive," Eames muttered, shaking his head. "There's no body, and she wouldn't cave easily. This one likes a challenge, and I'm willing to bet getting to her is a challenge he's taking on until he finds another victim."

Arthur gave Eames his undivided attention now. "What can you tell me? How can I help you?"

"There must be different layers of security built into the Ghost Network," Eames said, shifting his position to talk directly to Arthur. "Or one of those others. Maybe the fact that we're on the Ghost Network has come out, we're not sure. But there must be _some_ way this bloke is getting information. No one else knows about this stuff, but he does. There's a reason to it, there's a deliberateness about him. He's focused on his target, and I think we've put a crimp in the system he's got."

"But I don't understand what my role in this would be. I help invent security measures to prevent information loss or personnel loss. I don't usually come in after the fact."

Eames nodded his understanding of that impatiently. "Yes, I'm sure. Look, Arthur. Off the record, what kind of access can you get me into these other networks."

Arthur blinked a few times rapidly, lips parted in surprise. Saito had a bland expression, and he watched the two of them carefully. Arthur glanced between Saito and Eames and pursed his lips as he put the blank portfolio down on his lap. "Off the record?" Eames nodded impatiently. Saito's nod was more precise and controlled. "I have an account on the Ghost Network, just to keep tabs on my clients. My secretary logs in regularly to check for PM's..."

"PM's?" Eames asked abruptly.

"Private messages," Arthur explained. "Not everything is done across forums, and even then, there are various levels of access."

Eames sat up straighter in his chair. "Maybe that's why we're locked out. Our informant might have more restricted access."

"Could be. I'm not a player on that scene, exactly, so I don't really have unlimited access either. Sending a PM to the mod doesn't automatically grant further access."

Almost looking as if he swallowed something unsavory, Eames contemplated what Arthur just said. "So users don't even have to post publicly or to a locked forum. They could just take their problems directly to the moderator and we'd never know."

"It could be," Arthur agreed with a shrug. "And honestly, the Ghost Network is the best one out there. The others are crap if you need up to the minute information or really need to get a hold of someone. The others all wish they could grow up to be the Ghost Network."

"All bloody well and good, but that doesn't help me track down the mod."

Arthur contemplated Eames carefully. "She's important to you, this agent of yours."

"She's a friend and she deserves better than what this psycho must be doing to her," Eames replied flatly. "How would you feel if one of your coworkers went missing?"

"Terrible," he replied evenly, expressionless. "It's happened. My line of work isn't always puppies and rainbows, either."

"This is why he works well with our organization," Saito interjected smoothly. "Connections and talent are useful things to cultivate." He turned to Arthur with a serious expression. "I need you to help Inspector Eames with this investigation. You will of course get your usual consulting fees." The manner with which he said that and Arthur's impeccable belongings made Eames think the fee was considerable. "I want my agent back, Arthur. You do understand that."

"I do," he replied easily. He twirled the Montblanc pen between his fingers. "I assume you have no legitimate leads."

"This one is a tricky bastard," Eames growled in agreement. "But he deviated from his pattern. He's bound to get sloppy and give us more to work with."

Arthur smiled at Eames warmly. "Well, in that case, I'd be more than happy to help you."

***

Ariadne tossed and turned in her sleep but woke abruptly. The couch in the basement bedroom had been much more comfortable than the one by the TV, so she wound up taking a nap in there, keeping the light off and the door open. She felt as though someone was with her, though she couldn't see anything. She scrubbed at her face tiredly and sat up, but then felt hands push her back down against the couch. "What?" she gasped, air leaving her lungs.

"I just wanted to look at you," Arthur said, though there was something in his voice that she couldn't name. His hands slid across her chest to cup her jaw, and for a second she thought he would choke her. "Do I scare you?" he asked, feeling her pulse leap against his fingers.

"What's happened?" Ariadne asked instead.

Arthur smiled, the dim light flashing off of his teeth. "They're so worried about you," he said in a strangled tone. "So convinced I'd hurt you."

"They don't know you," Ariadne offered. Her pulse was still rapid, her breathing shallow. Did this mean they were close?

"No, they don't," Arthur agreed easily. "And they can't have you back."

"Arthur..."

"Come into the dream with me," he insisted, hand sliding down from her neck to cup a breast through the nightgown she was wearing.

"But why?"

"I need you to see what I see," Arthur insisted, a harsh edge to his voice. Something was agitating him, and Ariadne could only think that there had to be something going wrong with his real life job or with the Ghost Network. "I need you to understand."

"I do, Arthur," Ariadne protested, sitting up. She grasped his face. "I do understand why you're doing this."

"It's all abstract to you," he said, syllables spit out through thinned lips. His grip on her waist was almost painfully tight. "You don't feel it the same way."

"Then show me," Ariadne said quietly. "Show me what they tell you on the network. Show me how you do it. Show me why it has to be done this way."

"That's why I want you in the dream with me," he said, voice tight.

"I meant real time," Ariadne murmured. "You have someone, don't you? That's why this is different. There's someone in mind, and you'd have to leave me alone to hunt him down properly." Not to mention the FBI still looking for her. If he had made a mistake _anywhere_ and he was gone for too long, they could find her. She knew too much about him now to be safely left to her own devices for long periods of time.

Arthur's eyes searched her face, coming to a decision. "All right," he said slowly, every syllable carefully pronounced. "It might just be time."

***  
***


	8. Ephemera

To: GNMod  
From: KissMeKate  
Subject: Missing forum?  
I don't see a forum for workplace concerns and eveyrone already calls me a noob just for asking questions about getting started in this business. There's no real way to complain about peole I work with, and I don't know at this point where else to go. Is there a board just to vent about this?

 

To: KissMeKate  
From: GNMod  
Subject: Re: Missing forum  
There used to be a forum for those kinds of concerns, but it was moved to higher level members. Part of it had been concern for "noobs" simply complaining about aspects of the job they didn't like as opposed to valid abuses of the system. Is it venting that you need or a place to discuss legitimate concerns?

 

To: GNMod  
From: KissMeKate  
Subject: Re: Missing forum  
This might be a bit of both, tbh. My boss has been coming onto me and won't take no. He's also been skimming money from the Carduccis, and I don't want to be caught in the middle, but it's not as if I can put an ad in the paper about being a professional dream forger.

 

To: KissMeKate  
From: GNMod  
Subject: Re: Missing forum  
Others have had concerns regarding Carducci-owned labs. I'm unlocking those forums so you have access. Be careful in how you voice your issues, however. It's a tight knit community and the Carduccis have a way of knowing who says what about them.

 

To: GNMod  
From: KissMeKate  
Subject: Re: Missing forum  
Thanks for the access. It's helpful to know I'm not the only one with this situation.  
One other question - I don't know if it's another forum I don't have access to, but where would I go if I think my boss is doing something to the sleepers?

 

To: KissMeKate  
From: GNMod  
Subject: Sleeper concern  
What do you think is happening?

 

To: GNMod  
From: KissMeKate  
Subject: Re: Sleeper concern  
Some of them go in for sleep therapy, and I'm finding more walls and locked rooms than I should. I'm supposed to be forging their therapist or family members or whatnot to get the catharsis, but sometimes I can't find them. When I get the kick, my boss is still under and so is the sleeper. They come up ten minutes later, and the sleeper doesn't look right.

 

To: KissMeKate  
From: GNMod  
Subject: Re: Sleeper concern  
Again: What do you think is happening?

 

To: GNMod  
From: KissMeKate  
Subject: Re: Sleeper concern  
I know he's not killing them, since they don't wake up. I don't think he's acting as an extractor, because they're ordinary people. I don't *want* to think the worst, but I'm almost left with nothing else to think.

 

To: KissMeKate  
From: GNMod  
Subject: Re:Sleeper concern  
Have you told anyone else of your concerns?

 

To: GNMod  
From: KissMeKate  
Subject: Re: Sleeper concern  
Are you kidding??? I work in a Carducci lab! I'm new, but I'm not *that* new. I'd like to actually survive this and go to another lab if possible.

 

To: KissMeKate  
From: GNMod  
Subject: Re: Sleeper concern  
Did you talk to any of the others that work in the lab? Or the sleepers themselves?

 

To: GNMod  
From: KissMeKate  
Subject: Re: Sleeper concern  
The sleepers look drugged when they get up, and there's no regular chemist to check what the percentages should be. That shit's way over my head, so I don't know if my boss is doping them up. One of the girls flinched when my boss reached otu to grab her and keep her from falling. I know there's been whispers about guys pulling that shit in labs, and he's backed off of trying to make a pass at me. I don't know if it's gone to the sleepers, then. the girl that flinched told me she had tons of nightmares that just weren't going away, no matter how many sessions she had here. I know *I* haven't been able to get at her at all in the past month or two.  
Thanks for listening, btw. Your'e the only one really taking me seriously about this. I don't know how safe the forums are anymore. I saw the post about how feds are in it.

 

To: KissMeKate  
From: GNMod  
Subject: Re:Sleeper concern  
I've unlocked another higher level forum for you. There aren't many members in it, since I have to carefully screen all members in the network first. First and foremost, of course, is to stay safe. The new forum should be able to help in terms of searching for new placement in your area. I don't think your complaint is the first that your boss had gotten, but I can't be sure.

 

To: GNMod  
From: KissMeKate  
Subject: Re: Sleeper concern  
So you really do read all the posts? :) I thought that was just a rumor. Thanks for the new unlock. It really helps. I might have a hookup into a new lab soon. :)

 

To: KissMeKate  
From: GNMod  
Subject: Re: Sleeper concern  
I'm glad I can be of help. That's why the network is here.

 

 **Energy Maven Calls For New Guidelines!**  
...recent tussles between SomnaCorp and InteLiv have reached an all time high, with reported legal disputes between the two reaching in the millions. Maurice Fischer, a prominent businessman and avid proponent of dream therapy, had repeatedly made overtures to take over part of InteLiv but had been rebuffed. He testified in front of Congress regarding the apparent monopoly that SomnaCorp had on the somnacin production, even after it had left patent in 2008. The majority of SomnaCorp's production had been for government-licensed labs, but there had been a limited number of private sleep labs that complied with federal regulations regarding somnacin use...

 

 **FDA Declines To Revisit Ruling**  
...Despite objections to the contrary, SomnaCorp's patent of somnacin has not been renewed. The approval process for generic companies had been delayed indefinitely, and the FDA spokesmen were unable to provide comment explaining the controversial move...

***

Ariadne sighed as Arthur slid his arms around her. "You're very distracting," she murmured, taking her hand off of the mouse. She had been reading through his folders of saved messages and saved articles from his news feeds. "I thought you wanted me reading all of this..."

He laughed against the side of her neck, but there was an edge to it that Ariadne still couldn't place. Something was making him antsy, something that he wasn't willing to share with her just yet. "You read quickly, Ariadne," he murmured, breath tickling her neck. He sucked at the skin there for a bit, and she could feel his lips curl into a smile. "I'm glad you find me as distracting as I find you."

"Oh? And how distracting is that?"

Arthur moved one of his hands down along her stomach, feeling the muscles tighten through the flimsy fabric of the nightgown. "Like this."

She laughed slightly, leaning back into his touch. "Arthur... You're upset about something." She turned in his arms, the office chair turning with her. She spread her legs wide so that he could stand between them and she could rest her head on his chest. He was perfectly still, though his heart beat a rapid tattoo.

"How can you tell?" he asked, voice neutral.

Ariadne looked up, her arms still around him. "I know you well enough by now to know when you're upset," she said softly. "It's how you talk, the way you hold me. Your heart's pounding, Arthur. What's happened?"

He gave her a rueful smile and threaded his hands through her hair. "If only I could tell you."

"I'd help you if I could."

"I know," Arthur said, a faint smile on his face. "I don't want to hurt you," he murmured, "and asking you to choose now would be cruel."

Ariadne pulled his shirt out of his pants and unbuttoned it so she could rest her cheek against his bare skin. "I don't know how I'd choose," she admitted softly, closing her eyes. Reading the messages that had been sent to Arthur over the network had twisted her stomach. He hadn't goaded anyone into giving him information. If anything, he had been very careful not to lead her into anything, and let her make her own claims. Ariadne had checked KissMeKate's profile and posts on the other message boards, and everything hung together. Arthur didn't simply make her up in order to prove something to Ariadne. She existed, and Arthur even had the background check in his communications folders.

She knew he had her own FBI profile, but she hadn't opened it. There was no need to. She had already told him about what was in it.

"See?" he said softly, his heart slowing a little beneath her ear. "I can't do that to you."

Ariadne slowly unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his trousers. "I'm with you now."

His smile was slow and sensual, one that set her blood to boiling. "I think I like the honeymoon phase of things."

"You don't take any time off, do you?"

"I never had reason to before," Arthur admitted, letting her push off all of his clothes. He let her pull him to the floor so she could kneel beside him and take him into her mouth. Arthur sucked in a breath and threaded his fingers through her hair, taking care not to pull or yank at her head, no matter how much he wanted to. She felt exquisite around him, warm and wet and perfect, and he dragged a hand away from her head with difficulty. Trailing his fingers along the back of her thigh, he lifted the nightgown and traced the bare flesh beneath it. "I see someone's been a naughty girl," he said in a strangled tone of voice.

Ariadne lifted her head and blew across the damp skin. She gave him a wicked grin, eyes alight with mischief. "How naughty do you plan on getting?"

He laughed and slipped his fingers inside her. "As far as I can get."

"Good."

He worked her with his fingers as she ran her tongue along the length of him, balancing her weight with one arm and cradling his balls with her other hand. She sucked harder as she came, clamping down hard on his fingers. Ariadne shifted slightly to mouth his balls, then moved again to kiss her way up his bare chest. Arthur reached around her to slide off her nightgown, and Ariadne helped to toss it aside. She gasped as his fingers hit her clit and his other hand moved to her breast. He nudged her gently, making her shift position slightly. She cradled his head and helped him suckle at her breast while he still had his fingers inside her. Ariadne moaned, head thrown back and thighs trembling. He pulled her back into that position when she tried to shimmy away after she came, and he worked her to another orgasm. He only stopped when she was so unsteady that she nearly collapsed on top of him. Rock hard, Arthur moved to take her from behind, slamming deep within her depths. Fingers scrabbling across the floor for purchase, Ariadne had to collapse down to her forearms for balance. She rocked backward to meet his thrusts, strangled moans deep in her throat as the pleasure flooded her. Arthur came suddenly, surprising him with the force of it, and he kept going until Ariadne nearly shrieked with her own orgasm.

Arthur hissed slightly when he pulled out, too sensitive and breathing ragged. "At this rate, I'll never get any work done," he said shakily, looking down at the satisfied expression on her face. If this was a dream, he would have had no refractory time, and he could pounce on her again. As it was, he lay down beside her on his carpeted floor, stroking the curve of her cheek. "Time off is good, I guess," he said with a smile.

"It can be."

He brushed his fingers across her lips and she flicked her tongue out to run them across the pads gently. Arthur shivered, pupils blown wide with desire. "He's in Trenton," he said abruptly. "The target, I mean. I can take you with me. It should be safe enough for a little road trip."

Ariadne smiled, her hand on his forearm. "Thank you."

It was going to be very revealing.

***

Ariadne slept through most of the drive, which Arthur had encouraged. They were driving from Maryland to New Jersey, which would take most of the afternoon. His secretary called, relaying messages from Eames and AD Saito. He didn't even dare call either of them back until Ariadne was certainly deep asleep.

"You're on the road?" Eames had said incredulously.

"Good ear," Arthur replied with a smile, making a mental note to keep on his toes around that one. As if he hadn't already, but still. "I'm meeting with another client today. I'll be busy through the entire afternoon, so I thought I'd multitask. How can I help you?"

"Well, I sent you what I could regarding the current investigation, just as you requested. Your secretary sent me the passwords to access the Ghost Network."

"And?"

"It's a bloody mess in there, the higher up you go."

"That's why I have my secretary do it," Arthur replied with a smile. "She's good with computers. Why don't you give her a call? She can walk you through it better than I can, I'm sure."

"All right, thanks for the tip. And the access."

"Anything to help the cause," Arthur told him brightly. "I might be busy for a few days, but I'll check in regularly."

"Thanks for the help."

Arthur grinned as he hung up. He might have liked the Inspector if they weren't actually working at cross purposes.

AD Saito's call was much briefer. He simply wanted to confirm that Arthur was comfortable enough working with them, and possibly putting himself at risk to the Dream Killer. "I can honestly tell you that it's a pleasure to work with you, Saito," Arthur said. "There's been a number of challenges you've brought my way, and I've really liked the mental exercise. I realize this is personal, so it's a favor back to you for the prior consults."

"Very much appreciated, Arthur," Saito replied. "I thought about other agents for this, but it seemed neater to have your expertise."

"Glad to be of service," Arthur replied, meaning it. He did respect Saito. In another lifetime, they might have been friends.

Ariadne stirred as they drove through Philadelphia. He had missed the turn to stay on I-95 while staring at Ariadne's legs and the rise and fall of her chest. He liked the city, and had lived there for a few years as a teenager. "Hey, are you hungry?" he asked with a smile. "I know the best place for Philly cheese steaks."

She laughed and agreed as she stretched out, and it felt so very ordinary. They were on a road trip, almost like a vacation. It didn't have to be anything so sinister.

They sat at an outdoor cafe. It was fall now, something that had surprised Ariadne. It had just crept up on her. She had been gone for about a month real time, but somehow it had felt so much longer than that. She supposed she could run, but what would that serve? There was something compelling about Arthur, and she needed to understand what he did. If she did, she could do something about it. Unconsciously she rubbed at the inside of her left arm. "Do you know a lot about different cities, then?"

Arthur gave her a pleased grin. "I've done a lot of traveling. It's something rich parents tend to do with their kids, I guess. How about you?"

"We did road trips. Disney, Six Flags, Busch Gardens, that kind of thing. My dad loved to go camping, too. I made the best s'mores."

Laughing, he put down his sandwich. "We should go camping, then. I've never done that. My mom hated bugs. And dirt. And birds."

"And nature?" Ariadne guessed with a smile. Arthur laughed along with her. "You don't talk to her anymore, do you?"

Arthur shook his head. "She very happily ignores the world and takes her Xanax in her bungalow in Switzerland. My father is dead."

"I'm sorry. Mine died, too. Heart attack four years ago. We never even realized anything was wrong with him. He was so active."

"You talk to your mother a lot, then?" Arthur asked.

Ariadne winced. "Every week, usually, but it would go down to every few weeks if a case was really tough. And we'd e-mail each other back and forth. I visit for holidays and stuff, but I've been so consumed by work."

"And you can't exactly talk to her now," Arthur said with a sigh. She mutely shook her head. "We'll figure something out," he said quietly. "She's important to you, so she should know that you're safe and not in danger like everyone seems to think."

"Aren't I?" she asked, head cocked to the side and amused smile on her face. "Everything I've ever known, going up in smoke?" She couldn't face her mother like this. She didn't know what the hell she was doing, and wouldn't be able to explain this. She loved Arthur, but she didn't understand him sometimes.

"You can't help it that everyone's been lying to you. Or that they don't understand that they've been lied to as well." He shrugged and started in on his sandwich again. "Things aren't changing, Ari. I'd love it if it did."

She smiled softly at him, her hand falling to his knee to give it a squeeze. "We'll be okay."

He covered her hand in his and grinned at her. "Yes, I think it will be."

***

From: Ghost  
To: Annalise  
Subject: Ariadne  
Attachment: ariadne.jpg  
She is doing well and very much alive. She sends her love. While there is an extensive search for her currently still underway, she will not be found. I prefer that she stays with me.

***

Nathan Bruss was a very spry fifty-seven years old. He generally wore tailored three piece suits to impress business prospects to increase funding, and it was a trait that the Carducci family liked. He treated their organization like any other business prospect, bringing his sleep lab expertise to their organization in return for steady funding and payment. They turned a blind eye to some of his other dealings if they didn't impact on business or the Carducci reputation, and he tried his best to be discreet about those dealings. He traded somnacin for cocaine on occasion, as there were always junkies looking to score somnacin to tweak their high. He liked the rush and the buzz of the cocaine, and it helped him to finish all the books for the legal sleep lab as well as the Carducci establishment. Still, that was small time action and was purely for personal use, so it was something that the Carduccis allowed.

His main addiction had to do with the lithe teenagers or younger adults that came into the labs. They were fragile and traumatized, so easy to manipulate, so easy to convince that this was the ticket to redemption and a pain free existence. He liked hooking himself into their dreams, locking them in and recreating his own little fantasy worlds there. It was easy enough to adjust the dosing so that they would forget about the experience. He had some training as a chemist, and remembered the bits he needed to use. He didn't need to follow the latest papers or dosing suggestions. He had a formula that worked for him. The girls never remembered what he did to them while asleep, and some of them were so lost that he was able to take them to his back office for some real time action. _The sluts ask for it,_ he thought, a smile crossing his face as he observed the current crop of sleepers in the Carducci lab. _It wouldn't be so easy if they didn't want it._

He watched the eyelids flicker as eyes rolled during active sleep. He walked between the stations and paused in front of his current forger. Kate Murray was twenty-six, with long black hair, a nose ring and pockmarked olive skin from too much acne as a teen. She had been too discomfited with his advances when awake, and he wondered if she was a lesbian. He didn't look fifty-seven, after all. It couldn't be his looks. Nathan laid his hand over her breast and squeezed. She wasn't his usual taste, as she was plump and curved, but there was the air of the broken around her, and that overrode her physical looks. She would be tasty once he got inside her head, he was sure.

Nathan straightened up when he heard the chirp of his phone. Someone requesting a private audience at this hour? It came with no referral information, but the Carduccis weren't always good about that. If people paid enough, referral information was waived. Nathan found that annoying, but he supposed that it was part and parcel of working for the mob.

He left the lab area and headed for his office, pasting his businessman smile on his face. He could do this routine in his sleep. There were no formal records in this lab, just a series of letters and numbers that identified patients and accounts. Perfect anonymity within the record keeping, so he could track dosing schedules that were effective, as well as payment status. It wouldn't do to have someone behind on payments.

The Carduccis were pleased that he handled all of those delinquent accounts himself. They never asked how he handled it, and he never volunteered the information.

The light appeared to be out over the back entrance to the building that the lab was housed in. He would have to have housekeeping handle that. He opened the door and gestured grandly for the couple standing there to come inside. "I'm Nathan Bruss," he said, smiling his best salesman smile. "Why don't you come in, so we can discuss what your needs are?"

"It's hard for me," the woman said, voice warbling. She was petite and pretty, unable to meet his eyes. Delicious. "I mean..."

"It took a lot to get her to come this far," the man piped up. His voice was forceful, and he had the air of someone used to being in command. Rather like Nathan himself. He hated the nameless man on sight. "I don't think she'd go into your office. Could you talk out here?"

To know where to go and to bypass Carducci security usually meant six figure fees. They would be most decidedly upset to have to return the consultation fee just because Nathan didn't like standing in a chilly doorway. With a sigh, he stepped outside and let the door shut behind him. "Which of the Carducci brothers referred you?" he asked.

The woman looked up, and her direct gaze was startling. "Is Kate here?" she asked, voice much less warbling than before.

"What does she have to do with anything?" Nathan said with a frown. He stepped down another step, arms unfolding. This didn't seem like a referral anymore, but a shakedown, and he had never backed down to _anyone._

"So she works here. She helps with the trauma cases?"

Nathan came down the rest of the way, attempting to paste a genial smile on his face. "Is that what you're concerned about? You want to make sure that your trauma history is handled appropriately?" When she remained silent, he smiled more broadly. "I can handle your case myself."

"I heard about what happens here," the woman said, eyes sharp. "I need to know if it's true."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you really help the trauma cases?" She stepped backward, out of range of his grasp, and Nathan followed her with an unhealthy intensity. "Or do you just make it worse?"

That sense of being railroaded was back, and Nathan looked between the two of them. "What did the little slut say?" He stepped forward, hands in fists. "She shouldn't have gone over my head for this. If Kate wanted a raise, she would have to earn it like every other slut working for me: on her knees." He was angry enough that he forgot he stepped out of range of the outside security camera. "Who are you?"

Fast as lightning, the man grasped his arms and the woman pressed a needle into his throat. It burned as it went in, and the world swam. "I really had hoped she was wrong," the woman said, voice soft and mournful.

"When they ask for help like that," the man told her gently, "they usually never are."

***  
***


	9. Under The Edge Of Abandon

Nathan slammed his way back into the clinic, the aborted meeting first and foremost on his mind. He strode directly to where Kate had been hooked into the machines, and unceremoniously yanked the IV line from her arm. He didn't care about the spray of blood from her arm, and he was tempted to just yank the damned ring out of her nose. He ignored the cleaning staff in the background as inconsequential; it didn't occur to him until later that there was never cleaning staff in the lab while sleepers were around. "What shit did you pull, bitch?" he snarled, grabbing her by the throat. She sputtered and tried to pry his hand from her throat, but she was unable to do anything. She was as helpless as a rag doll, and he shook her like one. "Who did you talk to? Who did you send after me?"

Kate sputtered, shaking her head and trying to breathe. Nathan dropped her and grabbed her by the hair. He dragged her to his office and threw her down. "Fucking bitch," he fumed. "After all the chances I gave you, overlooking your lack of references, this is how you repay me?"

She clutched at her throat, unable to do anything more than croak. She seemed more helpless than usual. That knowledge seemed to burn through his mind for a moment, but his anger pushed the thought away. He stood over her menacingly, certain that he could break her to pieces.

The door to his office opened. He looked up, face contorted in anger. "Someone better be dying!"

The man's face was stony and blank in a way that gave Nathan pause. It seemed almost familiar. "Yes, someone will be."

The room changed around Nathan, and he stared at the man, flabbergasted. "What the fuck?"

He smiled, but it seemed sinister and strange on his face, a ghoul's rictus grin. "You and I are going to have a chat, Nathan."

The man shot him in the head before he could react, but he woke somewhere else.

"Sit down," came a woman's voice behind him. It was falsely pleasant; Nathan found himself seated and chained to a chair, unable to move. "I suggest you do as he says," she told him in a soft tone. "I'm sure it'll be much easier that way."

The man in front of him smirked and sat down on a chair that didn't exist a moment before. Everything around Nathan was white and empty, and Nathan took in the man in khakis and a polo shirt. "Where do I know you from?"

The man didn't answer right away, his eyes instead tracking the woman. She had her hair left long and loose, and she wore well fitting jeans, a knit top and a yellow scarf tied around her neck for a splash of color. She sat down beside the man in khaki on another chair that didn't exist a moment before. "There. Now that we're all seated, we can get down to business." His sinister smile was back, and his eyes seemed cold and dead. Nathan suddenly had the feeling that he really and truly was going to die.

"I can pay you," Nathan said, his voice more sure than he felt. "Whatever you want, whatever you need, I can get it for you." The man in khaki flashed him a condescending smile. The woman with the scarf seemed almost pitying in her expression. Neither said a word, and he could tell it didn't affect them in the slightest. "We can be reasonable," Nathan said, trying again to negotiate. He was aware that he didn't have any kind of leverage, but he needed to feel some kind of comfort. Khaki and Scarf had their prices; everyone had a price, if you worked at them hard enough. He just had to figure out what it was.

Khaki leaned forward, soulless eyes locked to Nathan's. "What I want, you can't give me while you're still alive," he said, voice cold and firm. There would be no arguing with that, no matter how hard he tried. "But perhaps we can come to an understanding."

"What do you _want?"_

"Justice," Khaki said, lips stretching out into a wide grin. Scarf seemed as placid as ever.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Shall I bring up a list?" Khaki asked, and a long scroll of parchment appeared in his hand. He started reading out names, and Nathan suddenly recognized them. They were the names of everyone he had ever fucked or battered or bruised or locked behind doors within her own mind. Even the Carduccis didn't care about the girls on that list.

"Did the Carduccis put you up to this?" Nathan stormed, teeth bared in anger. "I paid them! I paid them everything on time!"

Scarf wedged a gag into his mouth, and Khaki nodded his thanks at Scarf as he continued to read. Nathan wondered where his projections were. They should have been active. They should have been storming the three of them with guns and knives and bazookas. Hell, a fucking tank would be nice.

Looking around, though, Nathan suddenly realized that the world around him wasn't empty in the slightest. He was in a completely white room, but it wasn't a room. There were doors without handles or hinges, three or four of them on each of the walls that he could see. It seemed to be an octagon, judging by the shape of the walls he could see.

Scarf smiled at him sweetly. "We have a lot of time to get acquainted, Nathan. They won't be here for _ages."_

Khaki held a small paring knife in hand. "The first name on this list is Samantha Ellington. Why don't we talk about her? We'll get to everyone else in time."

Nathan didn't like the look in Khaki's eyes, or the serene expression on Scarf's face. Neither could bode very well for him. "I don't even remember that bitch!" Nathan snarled.

Shaking his head, Khaki came closer. "Tsk, tsk. It's not nice to lie, Nathan. Now, let's talk about Samantha."

It was only a minute before Nathan began to scream.

***

The picture of Ariadne was new. Her hair was strewn around her, and she was curled up in slacks, a blouse and a sweater on a beat up sofa. The wall behind it was blank, no indication of anything. There was no evidence of bruising on any visible skin in the photo, no sign that she was in distress. There was no sense that she had been killed and merely posed to look asleep. Her cheeks had a rosy hue, her lips were pursed as if about to speak and there was a slight smear of mascara on her upper eyelid.

Eames couldn't stop staring at the photo. She had been gone a month, and now the first contact that Ghost had made was with her mother. _She sends her love._

It was formal, almost stilted language in the message, which matched the messages that Yusuf and Arthur had received from Ghost and GNMod on the forums. It made Eames wonder if their killer used English as a second language, or simply held himself aloof from the rest of humanity. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

"Hey."

Eames looked up as Yusuf approached. He was turning into a friend of sorts, much as Ariadne had. It lessened the sting of her absence, though it was still there. "Hey, mate. I thought you were going to spend time in the labs this afternoon," he said, putting all the loose sheets of paper back together on his desk.

Yusuf caught sight of Ariadne's photo but didn't comment. "Cobb's been a prick lately, just so you know."

"He never particularly seemed to like me."

"He thinks you're a shifty bastard," Yusuf replied flatly.

"Yeah, well. Can't say I've gone out of my way to _make_ him like me."

Yusuf grinned. "I think he doesn't like what he can't control."

"That's me to a T, then. Can't control me in the least, as I don't even work on the same payroll." Yusuf nodded and pushed a small black box about the size of a woman's bracelet across the table. "Oh, you shouldn't have, Yusuf. I didn't get you anything."   
Snorting, Yusuf shook his head. "I thought you would find this interesting. It seems that Ariadne's mother is not the only one getting funky messages from our mutual antagonist."

Frowning, Eames opened the box. Inside the velvet lining was a smashed listening device. "Where's this from?"

"Fischer found it on his desk. Cobb got one, too."

"Holy fuck. The bloody bastard gets in here, too?"

"Taunting us, man," Yusuf agreed.

"He's too smart for his own good, then." Eames nodded decisively at Yusuf, standing. "There's security feeds all over this bleeding building. There has to be something to pinpoint when these were found and where he got in."

"The bad news, Fischer doesn't know when it might've been placed. He thought this was trash, and tossed it. I'm the one that pieced it together when Cobb was telling Miles about trash left in his office as a gift."

Eames gaped at Yusuf. "Did you tell them this?"

"They don't care about finding Ariadne," Yusuf told him, voice tight. "They care about finding the killer, and they don't even see when he's laughing at them."

"Fischer was last at his desk when?"

"Three days ago, maybe. He's been at the lab nonstop since then, and he's a fucking idiot."

Eames smirked. "Well, they can't all be me, you know."

Yusuf lofted an eyebrow at Eames. "Don't tell me you go under regularly."

 _For Queen and country and the right price,_ he thought darkly. "I meant that I don't treat you like shit," Eames said, keeping his voice light.

"Oh. Yeah, well, that's a given. They don't look at the guy with the chemistry set."

"They should. That better living through chemistry keeps them from puking their guts when the lines are pulled."

"I uh... I might've given military grade somnacin a few times," Yusuf admitted with a smile. "You know, when Cobb's being more of an asshole than he should."

Eames laughed outright. "You've just made my day, Yusuf. Heading out?" Yusuf nodded. Eames slid everything from his desk into his briefcase. "Lemme buy you a drink. We can talk more freely then. I can come back to look at security feeds. That shit'll bore you to tears."

"Just _thinking_ about it bores me to tears," Yusuf agreed, standing.

There was something he was missing, Eames was sure of it. Taking the edge off might just allow him to realize what it was.

***

The bullpen was fairly empty when Eames returned to the Hoover building. He had asked for the building security tapes to be pulled for the past three days, and Saito had made sure everything would be waiting for him. Robert Fischer was waiting for him, a laptop in his hands. "To what do I owe this honor?" Eames asked, eyebrow raised.

"The AD mentioned that you were looking into the security here."

"Perhaps."

His lips were pressed into a thin line. "Look. I want this clear. I didn't mean to upset her as much as I did that day."

"I never said anything," Eames protested, shaking his head at Fischer.

"You didn't have to," Fischer snapped. "It was horrible but part of the setup. Cobb had said that his team understood what had to be done. I didn't..." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. "I'm not that type. I don't get off on hurting other people."

"Seems to be part of the requirement of getting involved in the VCU, isn't it?" Eames asked in arch tones.

"You'd be surprised," Fischer replied, shaking his head. "I was going to talk to her, to make it clear that it wasn't real. I never got that chance."

Eames took a deep breath. "Cobb didn't really tell you much about his team or what they usually do, did he?"

"Not a thing. Just that they're all professionals and would do whatever had to be done."

Eames smiled thinly at Fischer. "Well, _he_ often goes pretty damn far. Not all of his agents can go through all the hoops he sets out. They drop out, one by one, and maybe one or two will follow him into limbo. The rest of us know better than to get involved in that kind of mess, because it's not going to end well."

"But you're not on his team anymore."

"No, I'm not. My assignment is still here, however."

"I'd like to help you."

"I think you've been a big enough help so far," Eames disagreed sternly. He started to unlock the door to his office when Fischer laid a hand on his arm to stop him. The stern look he shot Fischer had cut lesser men down to size, but Fischer did little more than hesitate before pulling back his hand. "What?"

"I want to help. I need to know that she's all right." He shook his head slightly when Eames opened his mouth to reply. "Look, I've been talking with Yusuf. I know he's a friend of hers. Whatever I did, I need to make up for it."

Pressing his lips together, Eames considered his options. He could spend all night going over the video, or he could split the difference with Fischer. Plus, Fischer still had Cobb's ear.

"Fine, then," Eames said with a slight nod. "I could probably use the help."

***

Ariadne opened her eyes smoothly. She felt nothing at all upon awakening. She knew this was real, that this was not another layer of dream. Sometimes with Arthur the edges of things grew blurred, but for the most part her ability to distinguish reality from dream was still active. At times it was almost disturbing; she should have always known what was real and what wasn't. It had been one of her most treasured abilities. It was a good thing she didn't need her totem, because Arthur hadn't returned her belongings, and the totem was on her keychain. If she didn't know better, she would think it was deliberate. She turned to look at Arthur, who was just coming awake beside her. Reaching out, she grasped his hand tightly in hers. "Doing okay?" he asked her quietly. She nodded, though her heart pounded in her chest and some part of her wanted to launch out of the chair and _run._

He disengaged their leads from the PASIV, leaving Nathan under sedation. He would be tortured by his own projections at this point, and would caught in the middle of a nightmare he couldn't wake from. Arthur knelt beside Ariadne. Stroking her hair gently, he pressed his lips against her forehead. "This isn't easy for you. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"No, but I'm sorry anyway. It's not always a pleasant thing that I do."

And he had done this at least fifteen times that the FBI knew about, if not more. "Does it get easier for you?" she whispered.

"Yes and no," Arthur admitted, still stroking her hair. "It's always a surprise mentally, even if I have a protocol by now."

"How could it get easier?"

"I think about those girls he attacked. They don't have to be afraid of him anymore. It's one more predator gone from the streets."

Ariadne let her eyes slide shut. "I need to take a shower," she whispered, shivering. She could imagine the blood on her hands, slick and warm, the feel of the serrated knife in her hands. She had known that it wasn't real as she had made the cuts, but that didn't excuse her behavior. What had she gotten herself into?

"I'll come with you."

She thought of protesting, but that would have taken energy she didn't want to spend. Didn't he trust her yet? Hadn't she already proven to him that she was worthy of his trust? Sometimes it felt as if he kept watching her, waiting for her to make a mistake.

They were in a dingy abandoned warehouse, and she had seen for herself how methodical he had been in picking out the area and keeping the area scrupulously clean of forensic evidence. He was just as methodical in soaping her up when they returned to the motel room he had obtained, making sure the suds were thick on her hands and arms. He scrubbed her hands almost raw before washing them off. Ariadne leaned into his body and sobbed. Arthur simply held her, letting the water fall down over them. "I'm here, Ariadne," he said, running his hands down across her back. "You're not alone in this. You're not a monster."

Holding on tightly, Ariadne just kept crying. Wasn't that the pot calling the kettle black? How was she any better than the targets? How was she any different from any of the people she had hunted? Arthur held her, hands running over her as he kept repeating that she wasn't alone, he wouldn't leave her, he would make sure everything was all right. He had his mouth hot and open against her skin, and she could only hold on for dear life. Arthur pinned her to the wall and nudged her thighs open with his knee. Ariadne still felt numb, as if she wasn't herself any longer. This was real, though. She _knew_ this was, with the same certainty that she always had. Arthur made her come apart in his hands, his teeth over her pulse. The water had gone cold at this point, and Arthur turned it off. He grasped her face in his hands and kissed her, long and hard and desperate. "I'm with you, Ariadne," he repeated.

"I'm no better than you are," she gasped, eyes focusing on his face. "No better than they are."

"I've always said we're the same," he murmured, thumb running across her lips. "But we _are_ better than they are. They take people and turn them to victims. They keep going, never stopping, never caring who they hurt. _We_ care. _We don't do this for fun._ Did you see me laughing in there?" Ariadne shook her head mutely. "I have to do this, but I don't want to. I know you don't want to, either. We're not monsters, Ariadne. There's no other way for those victims to get justice, don't you see?"

"I made him bleed."

"In a dream."

"He still bled."

Arthur pushed her wet hair away from her face. "In a _dream,_ Ariadne. I won't ever make you cross that line for real." He didn't feel the need to mention that she had offered to help first, that she had been the one to ask for the blade. It would only make her pull away now, no matter how much it had pleased him to have her ask to participate. "I told you. I don't want you hurt." He started layering kisses over her face, holding her tightly against him. "I'll go in alone next time, if it bothers you so much. You can watch over me while we sleep."

Ariadne shook her head. "No. I can't leave you alone like that. I can't abandon you."

He smiled against her neck. "You'd still be with me. I'd know it, even if asleep."

"I'm going to stay with you." She slid one bare leg against his, rubbing softly. "I promise."

"Good girl," he murmured against her pulse. He scraped the skin gently with his teeth. "Remember, you don't have to do anything. You don't have to feel obligated to help." She shivered hard in his arms and he pulled back to kiss her forehead again. "Come on. Let's get you warmed up."

He dried her off carefully, and she wrapped her hair in a towel. Ariadne rubbed at her eyes and seemed listless. Arthur laid down on the bed and gestured for her to lay down beside him. She did so, curling around his side and holding onto him tightly. Arthur stroked her arm gently, carefully, simply holding her. It would take time for her to adjust to the idea of this, to realize that she wasn't as horrible as she feared she was. She had been trained that mind crime was horrific, was tantamount to rape against defenseless victims. On some level it was, but this was the only way these perpetrators would ever get punished. She had come so far in such a short time, and it had taken only the smallest of nudges.

"Sometimes I wish I'd never met you," Ariadne whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes and a vulnerable expression.

Arthur's heart lurched painfully. "And other times?"

"I wish I'd met you first, before the FBI."

He ran his fingers over the curve of her cheek. "Me, too." He gave her a soft, pained smile. "I've been lonely for a long time, Ariadne."

"Me, too."

Arthur held her tightly in his arms when she settled down over his chest again. He wasn't about to lose her.

***  
***


	10. Along The Back Road

Nathan passed out, and the room became blissfully quiet. He was lying in a pool of his own blood, but he wasn't quite dead yet. Ariadne stood over his limp form, knife clutched almost desperately in her hand. She looked up at Arthur, her lower lip caught between her teeth. She didn't feel like throwing up or running out of the room screaming, didn't feel like slitting her own throat to make herself wake up from the dream.

She wondered what that said about her.

Arthur quietly took the knife from her hand and watched as the blood disappeared from her hands. "Feeling better?"

"A little."

"That one hit home, didn't it?"

Ariadne wanted to look away, but she was drowning in that understanding gaze. Nodding, she released the breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. "It was like it was happening all over again. He did all those things to that girl that happened to me, and it was like it wasn't even him anymore. It was the bastard that had taken me."

Arthur slid a hand up to cup the back of her neck. He pulled her closer, and she wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry, Ariadne."

"Not your fault," she said, the words muffled against his chest.

"I'm still sorry."

She looked up with a watery smile and touched his cheek gently. "I need to take a break. You can continue until the kick, but I need to get out for a bit."

Arthur nodded and kissed her forehead. "Do you want to do it, or do you want me to?"

Taking a deep breath, Ariadne closed her eyes. "You do it."

She didn't see the gun, didn't see the bullet. There was a sharp report as the Glock fired, and then her eyes snapped open in the real world.

Ariadne pushed herself up into a seated position. She carefully unhooked the IV that connected her to the PASIV. It had been three days now, though it felt like three months, at least. There were a dozen different track marks in the subject's arm. She couldn't think of him as Nathan, as a person. She couldn't reconcile what she was doing with what she _should_ be doing. He was evil and vile and disgusting, her stomach turning even at the sight of him. Going through his list of victims and extracting every vile act to make him pay for it was taking its toll on her.

She stood over Arthur's sleeping body. He trusted her enough to let her out of the dream without him, to watch over his sleeping body as he continued to work on Nathan. She could slit his throat as he slept; she was sure he wouldn't feel a thing, and the dream would simply collapse. She could run and find a phone, could call Eames or the SCU and let them know she was in Trenton and a mind crime was in progress. She could simply run and disappear, take the out that Arthur had given her. She could do anything.

What she did do was kiss Arthur's slack lips and make herself a cup of tea.

He found her in the kitchenette area of the warehouse. "You feeling okay?" Ariadne nodded as he sat down across from her. Nathan was still sedated in the larger area of the warehouse, his raspy breathing the only sound for several minutes. "I was almost afraid you wouldn't be here."

"I could have killed you."

"Yeah."

She looked at his impassive expression, knowing that the flat gaze was hiding what he truly felt. "I'm not leaving."

"I'm glad," he murmured, his hands resolutely remaining still in his lap.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Ariadne said abruptly, putting down the mug of tea. "I shouldn't be doing this. It's _wrong,_ but if I stop, he walks free. How is that fair?"

"It isn't," Arthur said carefully, that blank look on his face almost chilling.

"This feeling... Is it real? Does this even make any sense? It _hurts,_ Arthur. I'm going off the deep end, I know it," Ariadne muttered, running a hand through her hair in frustration.

Arthur reached out and pulled on her arm to take her hands in his. "I wish I knew what to say to make it better. I wish I could make it all go away." He rubbed his thumb in slow circles across the back of her hand. "I want to make this easy for you, but I don't know how."

Ariadne turned away, eyes bright and shining with unshed tears. "What am I becoming?"

"What you were meant to be."

She turned back to him and hastily withdrew her hands. "No, I don't believe that."

"I think things happen for a reason," Arthur said slowly. "There has to be a reason for things, why we're put on the path we're on. There has to be a reason _why._ I refuse to believe that it's just chance. You didn't just fall into the FBI. I didn't just fall into security. This between us didn't just happen. I refuse to believe it was just chance that threw us together like this. This is what was meant to be."

"I'm meant to be a killer?"

"You were meant to dispense justice," Arthur corrected. "You didn't go into the FBI to shoot a gun or file paperwork or whatever they were having you do. You went into it to catch criminals, to bring them to justice."

"This is murder," Ariadne whispered, shaking her head rapidly.

Arthur scooted closer and took her hands in his again. "You know that you couldn't do enough before. Perpetrators got off from the crimes they committed because there was no proof, no physical damage. It was all a dream. Courts don't find that evidence admissible in court. You have to use kidnapping or obstruction or any other constructs that simply don't fit mind crimes, so perpetrators never actually get caught for what they did. They're never actually punished. There's no justice for the victim, no recourse under the legal system." He stroked the back of her head gently and leaned in to touch his forehead to her temple. "I wish there was. I wish we didn't have to do this, but there's no other way. He won't ever be punished otherwise, and the victims won't rest."

"I feel it under my skin," Ariadne nearly sobbed. "Every sick thing he did. It brings it all back, like it's poison."

He pressed his lips against her temple. "It _is_ poison. We just have to drain it out."

"God, I thought I dealt with this. I thought I was done."

Arthur's sigh was a soft exhalation of breath. "Something like this never goes away. You know that. It lingers until you transform it into something else."

She turned so that her lips were hovering close to his. "Like you did."

"Like I did. It's a dull ache now, nothing so sharp or painful. It's there, waiting, but I can use it if I have to. I can ask the right questions."

Ariadne shivered and he kissed her gently. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"I can. Therapy buries trauma," he said quietly, standing. "I'm telling you to set it free, to look at it and own it." He held out his hand to her. "Ready?"

"No." She took his hand and stood. "But I'll go back in anyway."

Arthur shot her a pleased smile and led her back to the work area.

***

"I've got a hit on the Network," Yusuf told Eames in quiet tones. "I sent a message to Cobb, but I don't think he's forwarding everything to you."

Eames nodded absently before he realized that over the phone, Yusuf wouldn't be able to see it. "No, he's effectively cut me out of the loop. What is it?"

"Talk of a man in Trenton going missing three days ago."

"Fuck."

"Yeah. Not a clue why, but it's a girl saying she's glad he took off, even if he never said where he was going the way he usually does."

"Fuck."

"Eames," Yusuf rebuked him testily, "that's not helping."

"I'm thinking out loud."

"I don't need _those_ kind of thoughts."

"Three days he's been missing. Any word on where in Trenton? It's a big fucking city."

"It's not even necessarily the guy," Yusuf protested.

"You wouldn't call me about this if you didn't think it was," Eames pointed out.

Yusuf's sigh conceded the point. "It could be a fluke."

"It could be his next hit."

"I think Cobb's looking into it."

"Did a team go out, then?"

"I'm in the lab, Eames. I don't know. Fischer's still here."

"Doesn't mean much. Cobb doesn't respect the guy's intelligence."

Yusuf snorted. "I admit, I didn't think much of him in the beginning either. But when he's off the clock, so to speak, he's not so..."

"Shirty?" Eames laughed.

"You know, I have no idea what that even means, but I'll agree with you for the time being," Yusuf laughed. "I was going to say he's not a complete asshat."

"Same thing," Eames laughed. "Yeah, we talked the other day."

"Ah."

"I wonder why it took so long for him to say something, though. It feels like he's avoided the lot of us."

"I think he has. The thing with Ariadne shook him up pretty badly. He even forgot to be a fuckwit for a while."

"Go on, Yusuf. Tell me what you really feel," Eames snarked.

"Shut up. You know what I mean. He lost the role for a while, didn't show up for almost a week."

"Huh."

"Even stopped with the racial comments, which was nice. That had been a particularly fucked up part of this whole thing, in my opinion."

Eames drummed his fingers on his desk. "So Cobb likely sent a team up to Trenton?"

"Cobol and Thompson aren't hooked in today, so yeah. I think they're up in New Jersey now."

"Do they even have anything concrete to work on?"

"The missing guy worked for a legit sleep lab, so they're probably starting there."

Eames smiled slowly. "Tell me he worked another lab on the side, Yusuf. Make my day."

"He worked for the Carduccis, I'm fairly certain. That family has a monopoly for most of the illegal shit down in the area and all the way down to Philly. I was in South Philly before I went to LA, and holy shit, their grip is tight. If the missing guy had done anything on the side, he would've worked for the Carduccis."

"Gimme a name, Yusuf. I'll see what I can do."

"Nathan Bruss. His legit job, from what I was able to Google for you, is for Delta Tech. But if the Dream Killer went out after him, Delta's a dead end. That place is tip top and utterly legitimate. I knew a guy that worked for their Seattle lab and he got his ass fired for toking up once or twice too many."

"For shame," Eames said with a grin.

"Shut up. The guy was _brilliant_ at what he did and really shouldn't have been tossed out on his ass. But the guy found a job in Toronto, so it all worked out."

"You really do know everybody, don't you?"

"I know the regulars on the boards, yes." Eames could hear Yusuf's grin. "Hey, when people are sleeping in front of you all day, you get bored. I'm on the forums and I tinker with shit. Gotta keep the mind active, you know?"

"Hell, yeah," Eames agreed with a laugh. "So I need to talk to the Carduccis, then?"

"Don't know how you'll get an in with them, but yeah."

"Who's the one that leaked the news Nathan was missing?"

"There's a girl on the board that worked in a lab with him. Goes by KissMeKate on the Ghost Network," Yusuf added helpfully.

"Cute. Definitely a chick handle."

Yusuf laughed. "Anyone ever tell you that you're one rude son of a bitch?"

"All the time. Did Cobb's team get anything on her?"

"It's the Ghost Network, Eames. You can't trace a damn thing. That's the point."

"Send her a message, then. A private one," he amended, thinking of Arthur's comment regarding private messages on the boards. He had forgotten about the possibility of that, and had limited his focus to public posts. "Tell her you have a friend that wants to meet up with her about a job she worked on. Give her my cell number."

"You're heading to Trenton?"

"Cobb's team won't think of the Carducci angle."

"They should. I told them about it."

"If you really thought they would, you wouldn't have called me."

Yusuf was silent for a while. "Yeah. I suppose so. He cares," Yusuf added quietly. "Don't think that I think he doesn't. But it's different for him. I don't know if he cares about the rest of us as people, you know? It's like we're all tools to him, just pieces to move around on a chessboard."

"Never underestimate a pawn," Eames murmured, almost to himself. "When it gets across the board, it can become anything."

"That's why I like you, Eames," Yusuf said slowly. "You never act like my opinion doesn't matter, just because I was on the wrong side of legal."

"Of course your opinion matters. You know how the shit comes down. I think Cobb forgot what it's like out in the field."

"Good luck out there. The Carduccis are vicious bastards."

"I love you, too, darling," Eames cooed playfully. Yusuf made a choking sound and Eames merely laughed. "I'll watch my back, Yusuf. Don't you worry. We'll find the bastard, and we'll find Ariadne. She needs to come home."

***

Tick. Tick. Tick... Tick.

There was a slight pause in the sound of his watch's second hand. Nathan cracked an eye open. He wasn't dead yet, but Scarf was standing over him. There was a troubled look in her eye, as there had been for the weeks she had been here doing this.

She had that paring knife in hand again. Fuck. And Khaki was standing behind her, that grim expression on his face again. That never boded well.

"Tell me about Sarah," Scarf said, something dark in her voice. Light glinted off of the blade, and Nathan broke out into a cold sweat.

"What do you want me to say?" Nathan asked, voice cracking.

"Tell me what you did to her. Tell me why."

He let his eyes fall shut. It didn't matter anymore, none of it. "Because I could. Because she was asking for it. Because nobody gave a shit."

Nathan welcomed the slide of the blade across his throat, even if it wasn't deep enough to bleed. He could hear his voice distantly, words tumbling down, lips moving of their own volition. He was emptying himself out, the words pulling out his insides for their inspection. He knew Scarf and Khaki found him wanting, knew that he didn't deserve the air he breathed. He knew this was depraved and wicked. He knew this.

It had been part of the appeal.

Scarf cracked his ribs wide open, exposing the pulsing heart inside his chest, the vulnerable lungs. Her hands slid inside and wrapped around his heart. Nathan's vision grayed out as he saw their faces hover close. "You know what you need, don't you?" Scarf asked, a warble in her voice. Once upon a time he would have pounced on that, he would have dragged her under with somnacin and had his way with her psyche. Now he just felt numb and gray, splayed out in front of her. Now he was vulnerable as she must have been, as broken as every girl he'd ever fucked or violated in dreams.

"Kill me," Nathan said, his voice breaking.

"Maybe this time, I really will," Scarf whispered, pulling his heart out of his chest.

"Oh, thank you," Nathan breathed. "Thank you, thank you."

Tick. Tick. Tick.

***  
***


	11. Everything You Think You Know

Eames pounded on the back door of a nondescript building in the business district of town. He was in a beige suit and a loud orange shirt and hadn't bothered to shave that morning. He had just arrived in Trenton, and he was supposed to meet Miss KissMeKate.

A brunette with a nose ring and a thick leather choker opened the door cautiously. "Yeah?"

"My friend Lookout said I could meet Miss KissMeKate here," Eames replied, giving the girl his most charming smile. "It's about a job."

"Yeah. That's me. Lookout's a solid."

Eames smiled even wider as she let him in. "That he is. Thanks for seeing me," he said, shaking her hand and letting her lead him through the meandering hallways.

"Got a handle, friend?"

"Nothing official," he said with a smile. "Wanna give me a name?"

The brunette snorted. "I'm not buying your Kool-Aid, no matter how hot the accent is," she said, wagging a finger at him. "Sit your ass down and start talking about this job."

"Ooh. Formidable," Eames remarked as he sat down in the indicated chair. She sat down across from him, and he noted that she was closest to the door. Smart girl. "Look, Kate. Can I call you Kate? I don't even know what else to call you."

"It's my actual name," she said with a half smile. "Go on."

"All right. Kate. I'm working on a job tracking these missing players down."

She just managed to keep her jaw from dropping. "You're a Fed."

"Fuck no," Eames replied honestly. "Do I _sound_ like a Fed to you?"

"You got a point," she agreed reluctantly. She drummed her fingers on the tabletop. "So who hired you?"

"Someone who'd rather be nameless for the moment, or else his head might be on the chopping block next."

Kate nodded. "I feel that. Is your boss man a dick?"

"The usual kind," Eames replied with a shrug. "Why?"

Kate pursed her lips. "Listen. This is Carducci territory, Nameless. If I see any of this going down on the Network, I'm siccing them on your ass so hard you won't know what hit you. And they'd take out Lookout on the way."

"I know how it is," Eames said with a nod. "Look, my friend Lookout pointed me your way not to upset your gig, but to do me a favor. I owe him pretty fucking big for this, but it's worth it, because I think whoever snatched up these guys snatched up a friend of mine."

"Oh."

"Yeah. _Oh._ Look, whatever you can tell me would be great. I'm just hoping I find her in time, you know? The reports on the Network make it seem like she's probably dead, but I don't want that to be true. I can't give up like that."

"I'm sorry, man," Katie said, wincing in sympathy. She leaned back in her seat, shoulders slumped slightly. "Nathan's an asshole, but I didn't want him dead, you know? I just wanted a new job somewhere."

"What happened?"

"I think he was doing something to the sleepers." Kate brought her hand up to her mouth, the elbow of that arm perched on the arm of the chair. She looked at a point just past Eames' ears. "The Carduccis run a pretty good show, all things considered. It's neat, it's smooth, odds are you go home at night and no one's going to slit your throat. Security up the yin yang, making sure the investments don't walk. You know?" Eames nodded. "But the sleepers... It bothered me, how they couldn't stand Nathan and couldn't say why. I'm the company forger, right? And I couldn't find anyone worth a damn to forge for. They were locked behind barriers or something," Kate said, gesturing wildly. Eames nodded encouragingly, letting her take her time. "I'd been talking with the mod on the boards about getting me into other locked forums. You know, 'cause it sucks to be called a noob just because you got questions. He seemed nice enough to do that, and so with the shit down in the lab, I asked if there was a board for that. He asked me what I thought was happening, I told him. He unlocked a few more boards for me, I got a hookup into another lab part time. If they get more sleepers, I might just jump ship."

Eames frowned when she trailed off. "How long did all that take?"

"Maybe three months? I don't know. Nathan's always been a prick. Copping feels while I'm out, making like I should be fucking grateful to have a job at this lab. I got hired because I'm a good forger, not because I sucked him off, okay?"

Eames held up his hands in surrender. "Didn't say a word, sweetheart. You've got to be good if you're recommended by the Carduccis, right?"

Kate nodded, appeased. "Right. Exactly. Fucker didn't think so. But after a while his attention wandered, right? And that's when the sleepers really started acting funny. Same two or three, too. And then four days ago, he just disappeared."

"Any idea where he might be?"

"He met up with someone here, I know that."

"What? What happened?"

"There's security footage. I told you, Carducci property's protected," she said, catching Eames' startled expression. "They take this shit seriously. Barker and I went through it when he wasn't there after the session ended. We locked up tight, and Nathan was still gone. It's not like him. He likes lording it over us that he's the top dog as far as the Carduccis are concerned, you know?"

"Grade A asshole," Eames guessed.

"Got it in one," Kate agreed, nodding. "So we check the footage on the building when we realize all his stuff is still in his office. He plays like this is a legit place, like his other office, you know? Like he's better than all of us. All his shit's there, looking like he's ready to go through with a meeting with a new sleeper. But we don't see him, don't see any new sleeper client. We check the tapes, and he met someone at the back door where I got you. Not a surprise, but then after a while he steps out. Then he goes beyond where the camera sees and he just doesn't come back."

Eames blinked. "So he just left?"

"Yeah. Weird as all hell."

It didn't match the usual profile of the Dream Killer, but everything else about the victim matched. "You think something weird happened, don't you?"

"Yeah. And you do, too."

"It's much too similar to the other guys that I've been looking into," Eames agreed. "So no one's heard anything?"

"Nothing. His cell was in the office. He left with _nothing."_

Eames blew out a breath. He had hoped for more, but nothing would be forthcoming, then. No messages left, no indication of what the Dream Killer even looked like, no reason why this one would be different. "Who'd he meet when he left?"

"Looked like a couple," Kate shrugged. "I didn't see them, but I didn't expect to. It happens, you know? It's not like he could keep an appointment book."

He laughed a little at that, aware that there was nothing to go on. Dammit. "Did he keep an appointment book?"

"On his crackberry," Kate replied. "It's still in his desk drawer. I didn't touch it in case the Feds figure it out." She paused. "You know they're on the Network?"

"I heard," Eames said dryly. "Has chatter gone down a lot, then?"

"Hell, yeah. It's still the best one out there, but still. Ghost is checking out everybody, though. Once you've been cleared of all connections, you get bumped into different forum levels."

"Doesn't that pinpoint where the leak is?"

"Maybe. But shouldn't we know who squealed?"

Eames shrugged, wondering if Yusuf's days on the Network were numbered. "What if they pressured him or something? Or her," he said, indicating Kate with deference. "The Feds are right bastards sometimes, and they've got ways."

Kate sighed. "I suppose. I know I wouldn't want to go to prison for a dozen years."

"Hey. Hang onto my number, all right? Maybe I've got some real work on the way." He pulled his wallet out of the back of his pants. "In the meantime..."

"Hey, now..."

Eames slapped two hundred dollar bills onto the table. "I took up your time. I was honest when I said this was about a job." He stood up. "It's good to know someone up this way. You never know when you might need some particular skill sets."

Kate pocketed the money without further protest. "If the money's right, sure. I know some people, too, if you need to get a team together. Just saying."

Smiling at her, Eames nodded. "Understood."

Kate paused at the back door after Eames descended the stairs. "Hey, Nameless. Good luck with your friend. I hope she's okay."

Eames gave her a sad smile. "I hope so, too."

***

Saito called Eames an hour later. "Where are you?"

"I tracked down a lead in Trenton."

"How fortuitous," he said in arch tones. "Cobb had sent a team there to investigate a missing employee of Delta Tech. Have you heard of those labs?"

"Impeccable reputation, if I recall correctly. They're a national chain."

"Precisely. You do recall correctly." Saito sounded amused, and Eames wondered if he knew that Eames had decided to go native, so to speak. "There's a body found in a park. It's nowhere near Delta Tech, and the identification on the body belongs to Nathan Bruss."

"The missing employee," Eames said with a sigh.

"You are quite well informed."

Eames sighed again. "Are there local forensics or FBI forensics on site?"

"FBI, of course. I would appreciate it if you could make contact with them. I'm afraid Cobb was unaware of this particular missing person until yesterday, and there had been a dead end in his team's line of questioning." Eames winced at the carefully measured tones. Cobb was going to have his ass handed to him for this one, and especially since Ariadne still hadn't been found. He was going to have to leave the country to avoid this blowout.

"Of course, Assistant Director," Eames said carefully.

"I see now why you came so highly recommended by your Superintendent Mayhew."

"Always glad to be of service," Eames said tightly, nodding even though Saito couldn't see him. "I'll head over to the investigation now."

"Find this bastard and nail his balls to the wall," Saito said as a closing.

"That's the plan."

***

Ariadne was lying on the bed in the motel room, staring at the ceiling as Arthur slept beside her. She rubbed at the marks on her arm from the multiple PASIV trips into the dreamscape. She looked like a junkie, and was starting to feel as if she was one. She hadn't enjoyed killing Nathan Bruss, but it had been necessary.

Okay, that was a lie. For a few fleeting seconds, killing him had been _wonderful._

She had felt powerful, she had felt as if somehow that one moment had counteracted all the horrible things she had done to him. In that one moment of his death, all the terrible feelings she had were erased. She had felt complete somehow, as if it truly had been her destiny to get to this point, as if everything Arthur had said was right.

And then the high crashed, and she felt awful again.

She curled onto her other side, facing Arthur. Once again, she was faced with the obvious choices: stay with him and continue on this path, or run and return to how things were before he had taken her from her apartment.

But there was no going back now, was there? She knew too much, had done too much. She was a part of this now, as guilty and as invested as Arthur was himself.

Ariadne ran her cold fingers down Arthur's bare shoulder and watched him shiver in his sleep. She kept her eyes on his face as she continued to run her fingers down his arm, watching his brows shift. She wondered what he was dreaming, if he dreamt true dreams anymore. Longterm PASIV users tended to lose the ability to dream freely, and often all they had left were fragments of jobs and other peoples' projections floating through their minds. She wondered if he remembered all the names and faces of the victims.

Then again, who were the victims he should remember, the ones he killed or the ones that they had violated?

Ariadne shifted herself closer to him, feeling shivers wrack her body. Arthur clutched her close in his sleep, hands running along her back as if to reassure himself even in sleep that she was still there and hadn't run.

She didn't examine her reasons too closely. She wasn't sure she would like what she found.

Ariadne didn't realize she was crying until Arthur nuzzled her neck and whispered "Don't cry, Ariadne," in a sleepy tone of voice. He rolled over onto his back, pulling her on top of him. "It's gonna be okay," he whispered, holding her close. His steady heartbeat was soothing, and her tears slowed. "We'll be together. No matter what happens, you know it's going to be all right, because we're together."

She picked up her head and looked into his sleepy eyes. He looked so unguarded, so young. There wasn't any cold calculation in his eyes, no judgment, no sign that he was a ruthless killer when he put his mind to it. "What have I become, Arthur? What am I doing?"

He brushed her hair away, tucking it behind her ear. He smiled at her, calm and sure. "You are wonderful. It's not an easy thing we're doing, you know. It's not a simple little thing. It stays with you. I don't think I'd love you this much if it didn't."

"Why doesn't it affect you like this?"

"It did," he murmured, brushing the back of his fingers over her cheek. "It used to make me nauseous, and with the first one I'd throw up after every session. I dropped almost twenty pounds. I looked like a ghost." His gaze was unfocused as he remembered. "He said I looked like his favorite type to pick up, that sick, lost look. That I'd be easy to break." His gaze focused on Ariadne's pale face. "I thought of all those other boys he'd gone after, and there were some that killed themselves because of what he had done. I just _reacted,_ and then it was over. I don't find joy in this, Ariadne. I don't get off on this, not like you seem to think."

She flushed slightly. "This is hard for me, Arthur. I can't just pretend it doesn't bother me."

"I don't ask you to. I just ask you to trust me."

"I do."

He pulled her down for a soft kiss. "You miss your friends."

"Yeah. I wish... I wish I could tell them I'm okay."

Arthur gave her a soft smile. "In the morning, I'll send your friend Eames a message through the Network. How's that?"

Ariadne snorted. "You just want to wind him up and see how he runs around in circles."

"He's your friend, Ariadne. He's important to you, and I know he's out there somewhere worried about you." He stroked her face and pulled her down to rest against his chest again. "I'll just send him a message that you're all right, so he won't worry. I promise I won't antagonize him."

"Thank you."

Arthur kissed the top of her head. "Sleep, Ari. It'll look better in the morning, I promise."

***

To: Eames  
From: Ghost  
Subject: In the Labyrinth

Our mutual friend is doing well. She is flourishing under my care, so there is no need to worry on that account. She is whole now, and doesn't have to hide all the different facets of who she can really be.

Interesting interview on the local news. We just missed each other by miles.

Take care of yourself, if only for her sake.

 

***

Eames found himself shaking so much he didn't think it was safe to shave, even with a safety razor. He had left his laptop on when he had crashed in the hotel room the night before, and the little envelope in the systray of his screen indicated new messages. He had thought perhaps it was Yusuf, Max or Mayhew with a lead. God forbid it be Cobb with a missive where he needed Eames to help him. Saito would wait for a phone call.

He didn't expect it to be Ghost himself.

 _He was here,_ Eames thought, watching his hands shake. _He stayed to watch the havoc on the news, and he was here. Ariadne might have been here, too._ He felt almost detached from his body. This wasn't real somehow. He was still under in a dream, and this was all a nightmare he would have to wake up from. Holding his breath, he dug into his trouser pockets for his totem. It felt the same, and it was a comfortable, familiar weight. He flipped the poker chip, and it fell onto the table next to his laptop with a familiar rattle.

It was disturbing how unreal reality felt.

He tried to reply to the message, but it bounced back at him as undeliverable, address not found. "Fuck," he said aloud, staring at his screen.

How do you find a ghost that refused to be found? Their trap should have worked, they should have drawn him out. It shouldn't have made him take Ariadne. It shouldn't have made him think to look at the FBI. There was something he was missing, something he simply couldn't see.

Eames balled his hands into fists. What did the fucker want? What was it about Ariadne that he simply had to have? She was alive, he could count on that. Ghost wouldn't taunt him about that if it wasn't true. If there was one thing the Dream Killer was, it was precise.

His cell phone trilled, and he answered it without thinking. "What?"

There was a slight unsettled pause at the other end of the line. "Inspector Eames? It's Mallorie Cobb from Quantico."

"Oh. Agent Cobb. Sorry about that. I just woke up a bit ago," he lied. "I was up late going over the files here. I think I'm missing something."

"There was that single hair you found on the body in Trenton," Mal said in even, accented tones. It was calming, and Eames found his hands not shaking quite so much as he paged through the files on his desk. "It still had a follicle, so I ran a profile scan. It belongs to a female. The Dream Killer could be a woman, and the team is going about this all wrong."

Eames nearly fell out of his chair. "Wait. Wait, before you talk to SAC Cobb about this, I need you to run another scan, comparing the hair against it."

"Do you have a sample?" Mal asked. He could hear the confusion in her voice. "Where did you get it?"

"I'll be back in DC in a few hours. Can you wait until tomorrow to tell the SAC about this?" Eames asked, yanking on his trousers and starting to throw everything haphazardly back into his overnight bag. He could speed down I-95 if he had to. He had his badge and the permissions from AD Saito to do what he needed to do within reason.

"He knows I found something, Inspector Eames. He's not patient."

"No, he's not," Eames admitted. "But I think the Dream Killer is messing about with our heads, Agent Cobb." Where was his shirt? He ducked his head under the bed and around the armchair in the corner. There it was. "I think that's Ariadne's hair. I think he's playing with us."

"I can possibly get a warrant to go into her apartment and try to find her hairbrush," Mal offered.

"Don't bother with the warrant. Yusuf and I have a key. Talk to Yusuf, tell him I said it's all right to give it to you. I should be there tonight."

"Why do you have keys to her apartment?" Mal asked in arch tones.

"We were friends," Eames said shortly, buttoning up the shirt with jerky motions. He shut down his laptop and stowed it in his bag. "We're watering her plant and collecting mail. We're also checking to see if the Dream Killer does anything to the apartment."

"I'll talk to him," Mal said, voice softening. "Don't kill yourself getting down here. It'll take a few hours to run the PCR on the hair samples, then to compare them."

"I'll be there when I get there."

Eames hung up and did a last sweep of the hotel room to be sure he didn't forget anything. He scooped up his poker chip and stuck it back in his pocket. Fuck reality. Right now he could use a nice, relaxing dream where the Dream Killer was strung up by his heels and kept from killing anyone ever again.

***  
***


	12. Playing It Safe

"I left a message for Eames that you're all right," Arthur said, buttoning up the shirt he was wearing. She was brushing her teeth in the bathroom, and he smiled at her when she turned and lofted an eyebrow at him. "Really, I didn't try to antagonize him. I even told him to take care of himself so you won't worry."

Smiling, Ariadne rinsed and came over to give him a kiss. "Thank you."

Arthur put his arms around her and ran his hands down her back. "You look good enough to eat."

"Who's stopping you?"

"Good point."

He grinned and pulled her down to the bed as he kissed her. It was easy enough to kiss his way along her jaw and neck, to pull up the nightshirt she was wearing. He suckled her breast, fingers stroking her other one. Ariadne's breathing was harsh, her back arching up to his mouth. He continued on his way south, bypassing the juncture of her thighs completely. She made a soft sound of impatience, making Arthur chuckle. He kissed the top of her thigh and her knees, chuckling again when she whined as he went down the front of her leg. He kissed her ankle then licked his way up from her instep to her inner thigh. He licked a stripe across her clit, making Ariadne keen in desperation. "Someone's in a hurry."

"Arthur..." she gasped, legs moving restlessly. "I want you to lick me now."

Laughing, he blew across her moistening folds. "Yes, ma'am."

He pressed his lips against the inside of her quivering thigh and breathed in deeply, the scent of her filling his lungs. He loved the taste of her, loved the feel of her writhing beneath him. He couldn't give her up, couldn't let her leave him. She belonged to him, body and soul, and she loved him more than she realized. She had to, given the fact that she had ignored the countless opportunities he had tested her with to leave or harm him. She had done neither, but had stayed patiently by his side.

God, she was _perfect._

He teased her relentlessly with lips and tongue, sucking her gently as he slid his fingers inside of her. Ariadne whimpered and twisted beneath his mouth, hips canting up to give him better access. She was moaning, talking incoherently at times, urging him on and groaning as she came. He kept going, pumping hard through her orgasm, her slippery walls grasping at his fingers to pull them deeper inside of her. He sucked harder on her clit, and Ariadne nearly sobbed in pleasure. She writhed, pulling at the sheets and gasping for air. "Harder," she moaned, legs trembling on either side of his face. "Oh, God, please, please, I need it..." She came hard, crying out.

Arthur moved, unzipping his khakis and pushing them down to his knees. He knelt between her thighs and slid inside her dripping entrance. She let out a soft contented sigh at the feel of him inside her, and brought her legs up around his waist. Arthur moved slowly at first, but gradually sped up. He thrust hard into her, and Ariadne grasped his hips to pull him in deeper. He grunted with the effort of it, with the feel of her tightening around him and came with a hoarse shout.

He collapsed on top of her with a sigh. "I'm all rumpled now."

Ariadne laughed. "You say that like it's a bad thing." She ruffled his hair just to be contrary, making him laugh.

"Where do you want to go next?"

She looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"There's nothing on the Network that I know about." He brushed his fingers across her face gently. "Nowhere we have to be. Well," he amended after a moment's thought, "I have one consultation case here. But otherwise, I can spend my time however I see fit. We can go anywhere in the world you like."

"I'd like to go to Paris," she said with a smile. "Visit museums, be an obnoxious tourist..."

Arthur laughed. "You could never be obnoxious."

"You haven't known me very long."

"A few lifetimes, at least," he murmured, kissing her. "But I could always use a few more."

"You're a hopeless romantic."

"Better than just hopeless."

Ariadne laughed, and Arthur grinned at her. She watched him move to clean himself up, and her expression softened. The worry she'd had the night before seemed so distant now.

"So, we'll go to Paris," Arthur called from the bathroom. "I'll head back to DC, clear out this consult job, and then we'll hop a plane."

"You have a job in DC?" she asked, rolling to a sitting position on the bed. She squelched a bit, and winced. Ariadne joined him in the bathroom to clean up.

"Well, it's a security consult thing. I can bow out, saying that it's out of my league."

"Is it?"

Arthur flashed her a confident grin. "Not at all."

"That's not fair to whoever you're working for, Arthur. Just finish the job like you usually would, and then we'll go to Paris."

He dropped a kiss onto her forehead. "So conscientious."

"You love me for it."

"Among other things," he said, giving her a playful leer. Laughing, she headed out into the room to get dressed. Arthur took a look at himself in the bathroom mirror and rearranged his hair. He smirked at his reflection, then set about to repacking his overnight bag.

***

AD Saito glowered at Eames, though it wasn't through any fault of the Inspector. The only forensic evidence found at the scene was a single strand of Ariadne's hair lying on Nathan Bruss' abdomen beneath the neatly carved MEA CULPA. It was clearly a taunt to the FBI teams that the Dream Killer had her and had no intention of stopping his killing spree. There was no obvious way to find him, other than trolling the Ghost Network, and their fake sleep lab idea was a bust. Cobb's setup was disbanded and Fischer had been returned to the VCU. Yusuf was back at Quantico working with Miles.

Eames couldn't help but feel as if he had been neatly boxed into a corner.

"Sorry I'm late," Arthur said, rushing into Saito's office. "I drove straight here from Kentucky. What did I miss?"

Well, that explained the rumpled and slept-in look about Arthur. Eames sighed. "The killer struck again, planted evidence we were meant to find."

"Is there any security footage?"

"Not of the killer. A couple came to speak with Bruss, and he left with them. That's not the Dream Killer's style."

"Any chance I could take a look at it?"

Saito made a dismissive waving gesture with his hand. "Go on, give him a copy. He's the security expert."

"It's in my office. Assistant Director?"

"There isn't more to be said here." Saito looked at Eames in disappointment. "There may not be enough going on to keep you here, Inspector. I need to discuss things with Mayhew."

"Of course," he said, feeling as though he had just been knocked upside the head. He brought Arthur to his office to view the security footage he had copied from Kate in Trenton.

"Standard CCTV feed," Arthur commented in bored tones, looking intently at the video. "I suppose there's no sound?"

"Not on this model, no," Eames said quietly. "I'm missing something, Arthur. I know I'm missing something important. The bastard wouldn't taunt me otherwise."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, looking from the monitor. He and Ariadne had hidden their faces, and he was confident that Eames couldn't recognize them on the footage.

"He left me a message that of course can't be traced. He kills Bruss right under my nose and drops him off while nobody's looking. He plants evidence to prove he's still got her..."

Arthur blinked. "Evidence?"

"He left one of her hairs behind on the body. I mean, what a fucking wanker! He's laughing at me, I know it." Eames ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "I must have just overlooked something. Not security, or else you'd've found something by now."

"I'm trying, really. But as I texted Saito this morning, I have nothing new by any means I can think of."

Eames looked at Arthur with a pained expression. "All I know is that she's alive and he's keeping her. But for what? To torture the team? Most of the fuckers just wrote her off as dead after a week or two." He drummed his fingers on the desk, thinking. It had to be something about Ariadne in particular, something about her that was different from the others on the team that he just couldn't see.

"What if he honestly cares about her?" Arthur asked quietly.

He snorted in derision. "Psychopaths only care about one thing: themselves." Eames shook his head, unable to wrap his mind around that concept. "If it was a case of infatuation, why not just arrange a random meeting, chat her up like any other bloke? No, I think this was more than that. It's related to the case somehow, but I'm missing it."

"You're trying too hard," Arthur told him honestly, ejecting the DVD from the player. "Sometimes you see the bigger picture if you stop staring at it so much."

"Well, you heard Saito. They might kick me back across the pond, objective undone, Ariadne still lost."

"Maybe that will give you the perspective you need," Arthur said, handing him the DVD. "There's nothing on this that's helpful. He does his research, whoever this is."

Eames sighed. "What if she's hurt, Arthur?" he asked in a quiet voice "What if she's in trouble because of something I missed?"

"What did the message say?"

"That she's fine, shite like that." He blew out an impatient breath. "Of course he'd say that. He wants me to go away."

"But you won't, will you?"

He turned and looked at Arthur. "No, I won't. I have friends about that could help me with this, even if I got shipped back. I can't rest until I know she's all right."

"Do you love her?"

Eames was startled by the quiet question. "Have you been listening to gossip, too? Lord, no. It's not like that. She's a friend of mine, and I'm partly responsible for her disappearing like this. I'd do the same for Yusuf or any of my other friends."

"She's lucky to have you, then," Arthur replied slowly. "Not everyone can say that."

"No, I don't suppose they could. But you don't need to hear this crap. Sorry for wasting your time."

"It's all right. I'm glad to help, however I can." Arthur smiled at Eames. "Cheer up, Eames. It's got to get better, right?"

"I don't see how."

"Take a break. I'm sure you'll see what you're missing then."

Eames scrubbed the side of his jaw with his hand. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

Arthur grinned. "Of course I am. Give me a call if you need anything. My secretary knows how to get in touch with me."

Eames sighed and watched Arthur leave his office. He still had the nagging feeling he was missing something, but Arthur had a point. He wasn't going to be reminded of it while staring at the files of all the victims and trying to find something in common with Ariadne. They had all abused innocent people, so she actually had more in common with the victims' victims. If anything, she probably had more in common with the damned Dream Killer.

He grabbed his jacket and locked up. He was headed for Quantico; Yusuf was always up for a pint or two after hours, and some downtime ought to do him some good.

***

Ariadne looked at the small carry on bag that held everything Arthur had bought for her. It seemed sad and pathetic somehow. This was all she had left in the world now. She couldn't contact anyone she had known or loved, as it would endanger Arthur. She couldn't risk letting anyone know she was all right, and she would have to go on the run. She couldn't be Ariadne any longer, but would have to become someone nameless and faceless.

It was enough to give her a panic attack.

She calmed herself down as best as she could and wound up pacing throughout the house. She could go outside now if she wanted to, but she didn't wander farther than the backyard. It was an ordinary house in an ordinary neighborhood, the quiet of suburbia all around her. None of them knew about the monster that was their neighbor.

Just thinking that made her feel sick, almost disloyal. That wasn't fair to Arthur and she could hardly get on a high horse about him now. She was just as bad as he was, just as twisted and dark in places people couldn't see.

She sat down on the back steps and let the sun beat down on her for a moment. There was no thought of running, no thought of using the phone in the house to call anyone. There was no one to call anymore. There was no reason to run.

Ariadne had become a ghost.

***

Arthur stepped into the house with a smile on his face. As unhappy as Saito had been, he had to admit that there was nothing Arthur could do to help with this particular situation. It was only a matter of time before Ariadne's disappearance would be officially closed, and Eames would have to be sent back overseas. Unless he had some kind of a political job to do for the embassy, but that didn't seem likely.

He had left Ariadne to pack up her things and some of his. He didn't have to worry about a passport for either of them, as he had his company plane to jet them around wherever he needed to go, and his secretary could send along whatever documents he needed. She did her work diligently, and when he mentioned needing a passport for Ariadne, she hadn't balked. She simply asked for the data she needed and a photo. She would send that on to Paris when they picked a hotel to stay in. Ariadne's new name would be Ariana on those documents; it was similar enough for her to respond to, yet different enough that it wouldn't show up on a flight manifest search.

It took Arthur a moment to realize something was wrong. It was quiet in the house. Too quiet. It shouldn't have been; the ideas had taken so flawlessly, and she believed in his vision with every fiber of her being. She _loved_ him, as much as he loved her. It shouldn't have been this silent; she shouldn't have run away.

The basement was empty, and he raced through every room in the house. He didn't see her anywhere, and panic bloomed in his heart. What if she left? What if this was too soon? What if he had to track her down all over again?

He saw the suitcases in the living room and stopped short. He had raced right past them in his panic, and he could feel his heart start to slow. Ariadne was asleep on the couch, stretched out and hidden by the tall back. She had one of his books on dream theory lying on her chest, still open to where she had fallen asleep while reading.

Arthur sank down onto the couch near her feet and took them into his lap. She was in socks, and he pulled them off to massage her feet. Just touching her calmed him. She stirred after a moment, and woke up. "Hey, sleepyhead."

Ariadne smiled when she saw him. "Hey. How was work?"

"Boring," he replied. "I've signed off on this one." He chuckled at the expression on her face. "I didn't just screw it up. There honestly wasn't anything else for me to do there. I would just be taking their money for no reason if I stayed."

"Oh. Well, I guess it's not that bad in that case."

Arthur laughed and watched her stretch appreciatively. "When did you want to leave?"

Ariadne let out a sigh. "I wish..."

"What is it?"

"I wish I could say goodbye," Ariadne murmured. She pushed herself up to a sitting position. "It's... I'm leaving them behind, Arthur. I'm never going to see any of my friends ever again, I'm never going to see my mother..."

Arthur pulled her against him as she started to cry. "Sh... Ari..."

"I'm a ghost now. I'm like you. I don't belong anywhere. I can't... I need to do something, I need to see someone..."

He pressed his lips against her temple. "Why don't we visit your mother, then? Explain to her that you have to go into hiding and no one can know? She can keep a secret like that, right?" He moved to kiss her face when she didn't answer right away. "You don't have to stop existing, Ariadne. It's not like that..."

"Isn't it? I'm disappearing."

He kissed her, full on the mouth and with all of his pent up frustration. If he pushed too hard and too fast, she might run. Hell, she could run at any time. "I need you, Ari. I love you so much, I don't know what I'd do without you. Tell me how to make it better." His hands roamed everywhere, imprinting the feel of her beneath his hands. "I can't lose you," he murmured against the skin of her neck. "I can't."

Ariadne held him close, eyes sliding shut. "I don't know who I am anymore. I can't even... It's _terrifying,_ Arthur. I can't even explain it. It makes no sense."

"Sweetheart, it makes _perfect_ sense." Arthur pulled back to look her in the eye. "So much has changed in such a short time. I don't blame you for being lost." He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. "I wish you'd told me sooner."

"I tried."

"Then I'm sorry I didn't understand. God, I feel like an idiot."

"Don't say that," Ariadne sighed, shaking her head and taking his hands in hers. "It's not like that. You're brilliant at what you do."

"Yeah, but I didn't see how scared you were getting. This is moving too fast, isn't it?" He tucked her hair behind an ear and traced the curve of her cheek. "We can slow it down, put off this vacation. Just... Hang out here, I guess. Figure out normal things to do with our time."

"We've done that in dreams already, Arthur."

"But this will be real. That will make it different."

"God, you're such a smoosh sometimes," Ariadne said, laughing a little and wiping at her eyes. "I'm being stupid."

"Let's visit your mother," Arthur offered, fingers trailing along her neck. He leaned in to kiss it as his fingers followed the curve of her shoulder. "You can let her know you're really okay, and say goodbye the way you need to."

"What can I even say? I can't explain how we really met, what's really happening..."

"Just tell her what she needs to know. I'm keeping you safe. You have to go into hiding and you can't use your real name, you can't go back to the FBI. It's the truth."

Ariadne sighed and leaned into his embrace. "It's a lie of omission. I haven't lied to her about anything big."

"Ever tell her about the nightmares you used to have? The way it came back even with the dream therapy." He could tell her answer was no by the way she stiffened slightly in his arms. "It'll be like that. Some details she doesn't have to know. It might be kinder that way."

Sniffling, Ariadne pressed her face against his chest. "I _hate_ this."

"I know, Ari. I know how this feels. This kind of emptiness, like a hole inside you that won't ever be filled... I _know."_

"What makes it go away?"

"For me, it was you."

She pulled back to look at him. "I'm not that special."

"To me you are."

He kissed her, and Ariadne melted against him. It was a tender, lazy kiss, his tongue stroking hers in a slow rhythm as he held her. It was a kiss to drown in, a kiss that said she was the most beautiful woman on earth and he couldn't believe she was with him. It was a kiss that could go on forever, and Ariadne missed it when it ended. "I love you," he said softly. "I will do whatever I can to make you happy. You have to believe that."

Ariadne tried to smile. "Most of the time, I do."

"Then I'm not trying hard enough." He kissed her again, making her fall back against the couch. He was positioned between her legs, and she let her hands roam across his back. "I want you to be happy," he murmured against her mouth. "I want you to want to be with me. I want you to stay, for the rest of our lives."

Ariadne gasped. "Are you...?"

"It means whatever you want it to mean," Arthur replied, moving to kiss her neck and tangle his hands in her hair. "I never want you to go, Ariadne. I want you with me forever. Say yes. Say you'll stay with me. I can make you happy, Ari. I can make you so happy..."

It was hard to think with the way he was touching her, his hand sliding beneath her shirt to fondle a breast. She sucked in a breath and let it out shakily. "Yes."

Arthur smiled against the skin of her neck. "Thank you." _You won't regret this, I'll make sure of it._

It was easy enough to tug off their clothes, keeping their mouths on each other and hands sliding across the skin. Ariadne climbed on top of Arthur and guided him into her, sighing at the feel of him inside. It was almost a desperate feeling clawing at her chest, a need she couldn't explain. She rocked against him hard, hands tight on his shoulders for balance. He ran his hands along her back, then reached up to play with her breasts as they bobbed above him. Arthur tilted his hips to deepen the strokes until she cried out, back arching and head thrown back in ecstasy. Another few strokes and he too let go, spilling inside of her. Ariadne collapsed on top of him, nearly whimpering as she tried to catch her breath. He ran his hands over her back almost protectively.

"I'll take care of you," Arthur promised.

"I can take care of myself," Ariadne protested in between ragged breaths.

"I know, but I want to do this. I want to take care of you. I want to keep you safe. I want to make sure the nightmares go away, that they never come back. I'll take care of everything, and no one will ever hurt you ever again. I promise. I'll protect you, Ariadne. I'll always keep you safe."

"I believe you," Ariadne murmured, moving to kiss his cheek. "I know you'll try."

Arthur smiled at her, and for a moment Ariadne felt a _frisson_ of fear at the sight of it. "I will do whatever is necessary for you, Ariadne. You're my only priority."

To be so cherished was as terrifying as it was wonderful. She had never been so necessary to someone before, had never been so precious. It was an awe-inspiring feeling to be put up on a pedestal, but she knew that usually there wasn't far to fall off of it.

But the moment passed when he kissed her hand and gave her that same adoring and endearing look he gave her. "C'mon. How about ice cream?" he asked. "You look like you need rocky road," Arthur observed, smiling as he tucked her hair behind her ears again. "I know that helps give me a moment to think sometimes."

Ariadne pushed away the misgiving she'd had. It was silly. Arthur had never hurt her. That was an old fear being translated, that was all. It didn't mean anything. She smiled at Arthur and disentangled herself. "All right. Let's get going."

***  
***


	13. Almost Human

Yusuf packed up his notebooks for the evening and was about to shut down his computer when it dinged, letting him know there was a new message waiting for him. He clicked on it, sitting back down at his desk. Research at Quantico was nice, if boring. Miles didn't go out into the field at all, and Yusuf didn't think Cobb would often want to create a false sleep lab. Still, it had been quite fun while it lasted.

To: Yusuf  
From: GNMod  
Subject: Forum permissions  
I am aware of your current employment status. I don't hold it against you, as some on the network might. Be aware that this is your last chance on the forums. Should I discover that the safety of other Network members is compromised, I will terminate your membership. At the moment, I have unlocked higher level chemist boards for you to take part in.  
Use the permissions wisely.

He stared at the screen, vaguely aware that his hands were shaking. Holy fuck, the Dream Killer knew who he was. He knew he had sold out to the FBI to save himself jail time. It would have been a definite jail sentence if it had gone to court; his record was too long as it was.

Yusuf thought of telling Eames, but what could he do anyway? He worked for Scotland Yard, and only Saito seemed to care about his opinion. No, there was no one to tell about this. There was no point. He was doing research now, and he was barred from participating in illegal sleep labs as part of the deal. There was no way he would be able to contribute anything to a future FBI investigation anyway. He would be safe, and Ghost wouldn't have to come after him.

He thought of the photos of the victims, those glassy eyed stares and the way they were carved up. He didn't want to become like those fools.

Yusuf closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could deal with this. He could deal with a lot of things, if he put his mind to it.

In the meantime, he would to go to the mosque to pray. It couldn't hurt, and it would definitely calm his nerves. He was a bad Muslim sometimes, with the drinking and drugging and eating all sorts of thing he really should check on first. It had been years since he had gone regularly. Maybe it was time to start again.

***

It was inevitable, but even Saito couldn't keep Eames stateside indefinitely. He cleared out his office at the Hoover building and sent it on ahead to the Yard. Eames knew that Mayhew would sign for it and have everything sent to his office for him to sort through later. Eames called Ariadne's mother Annalise, who had been glad to hear from him. She sounded calmer than she had in the past, less worried about things. He wondered if she simply gave up hope for Ariadne's safe return, which made his gut twist in pain. He wished he had something concrete to offer her, but there was nothing.

"If you could do me a favor before you leave," Annalise asked almost hesitantly. "Could you possibly pack up her apartment? I don't... I can't go through her things right now."

Eames sighed. "Yeah. I can do that. I'll be here another two weeks, closing out some other things I was working on with the embassy. I can help with that stuff." It would kill him, but he would do it for Annalise's peace of mind.

"Thank you," Annalise said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "I really appreciate all you've done to help."

"I just wish I could do more," Eames replied. "I'll call before I leave for England."

This was how he found himself back at Ariadne's apartment. It was dark and lonely now, empty of everything that had reminded him of her. The plant had gone to Yusuf, who kept it on his desk at Quantico. The books were all boxed up and carefully labeled before going into one of the storage rooms in the building's basement. The super had been helpful enough about that, possibly because Annalise wasn't suing the pants off the guy for having such shoddy security.

The kicker was, the bastard hadn't even upgraded it since Ariadne's disappearance.

Eames knew he wasn't alone in the basement as he stacked the carefully labeled boxes in the store room. It had taken him perhaps a week to box everything up, his mind on autopilot. In a few days, he was flying back to London. He felt like a failure on so many levels, even if Saito and Mayhew both knew he had done his best. It simply hadn't been good enough, and he knew he had failed Ariadne, wherever she was.

As if he had conjured a ghost, she was standing right there behind him when he turned around.

"Hello, Eames," she said in a calm voice, as if he wasn't staring at her with a gobsmacked expression. She looked the same as she had when she had first disappeared, dressed in jeans and a blouse with a matching cardigan. Her hair was loose, and she had a jaunty little scarf around her neck. She looked _good,_ as if nothing had happened and the three months she had been missing hadn't happened at all.

"Ariadne," he replied, voice hoarse. She gave him a shy smile, shoving her hands into her pockets as he simply stared at her. "You're here."

"Yeah," she said, nodding a little. "I'm really sorry."

"The bloody _fuck?"_ Eames bit out, breath leaving his chest in an explosion. God, he felt so hollow and raw, and there she was as if nothing had ever happened. "What the hell happened three months ago?" he all but shouted. "You were _gone!"_

"That was my fault," came a familiar voice behind her, stepping out of the shadows. Arthur was in slacks and a simple pullover, looking oh so very ordinary. "Don't blame Ariadne for something that I did."

Eames thought he was about to have a stroke. "Arthur?"

Arthur smiled and it seemed almost predatory. Eames wondered how he hadn't seen it before. "Well, this is a merry little reunion, isn't it?"

"You know him, Arthur?" Ariadne asked, pulling her hands out of her pockets.

"I did a consulting job for the AD," Arthur said with a nod. "I've met the Inspector here a few times. Funny how he never found anything about your disappearance."

"Fucking bastard!" Eames shouted, lunging for him. He danced out of Eames' reach and Ariadne stepped in between them. "I trusted you!" he yelled, pushing back against Ariadne's firm grip on his chest. She was tiny but strong. "How could you?"

"You saw what this case was doing to her, Inspector," Arthur said calmly. "Do you really think I could let her expose herself to that kind of thing?"

"Arthur, I think you should wait outside," Ariadne said, turning her head to him slightly.

"Well, I should at least say thank you for packing her things," Arthur said with a shrug toward Eames. He hefted a box labeled "clothes" easily and headed out of the back door, which was still unlocked and had no security camera.

Eames felt the tension bleed out of him as Arthur left the basement. "Ariadne, tell me I'm under. Tell me I'm having a bad reaction to the somnacin and I'm having a fucking nightmare."

Her smile was regretful and felt all too real. "No, you're not. I'm sorry."

 _"Why?"_ he asked in an anguished tone. "What the fuck happened?"

"Eames, it's not like that..."

"He kidnapped you and right now you're protecting him," Eames said, voice flat. "What about that isn't wrong?"

Ariadne pressed her lips together unhappily. "Eames..."

"You're an FBI agent. You're supposed to bring him in for questioning, not protect him!"

"I'm the one that killed Bruss," Ariadne admitted quietly. There was no pleasure in watching Eames grow pale or stagger back a step. She grasped hold of his arm and had him sit down on a box of books. She sat down across from him, a pleading expression on her face. "I'm sorry it turned out this way, Eames. I wish I could have saved you some worry..."

"Worry?" he cried in disbelief. "Ariadne, they think you're dead. They think he killed you, and that picture he sent your Mum was just to throw things off. Cobb's team considers you _dead._ Yusuf and I are the only ones that knew you couldn't be."   
Ariadne winced. She watched him push off of the box and pace around the storeroom jerkily. He wasn't armed, hadn't considered the possibility that she or the Dream Killer would simply walk into the apartment building to talk to him. That didn't make him any less dangerous, but she had to talk to him. She owed him that much. "I'm okay, Eames. I really am. He's not making me do anything that I don't want to do."

He hovered over her, aware that he probably looked physically threatening and imposing. "The fuck he isn't. He had to have done something. That killing thing isn't you. You're an agent, for Chrissakes. They don't _do_ that sort of thing!"

"It was justice, Eames," Ariadne said, looking up at him calmly. "Bruss never would have been brought to justice for what he did to those girls, for what he planned to do to the girl that worked with him. What about _them?_ Are all their voices supposed to be silent just because it was an _illegal_ sleep lab?"

He clasped his hands in front of his mouth as he contemplated her. "He could have been brought in for questioning, could have been tried for abuse."

"No physical abuse means no evidence. No actual penetration means it's not called rape. Are you going to tell me that a court would sentence him for twenty-five to life on what happened in a dream state?"

Eames didn't know which was worse: that she believed this or that she was right. Her tone was flat, as if she was simply stating facts. Her expression was imploring, but it was imploring him to believe and trust her. She wasn't asking his forgiveness for being missing or participating in a murder, and she wasn't asking him to cover for her. God only knew she wouldn't have to; the Dream Killer was slick enough to cover both of their tracks. Especially if Arthur had access to case files from Saito under the guise of a consultant, any slip ups would be contained.   
Ariadne watched Eames continue to pace jerkily, carding his fingers roughly through his hair. "It wasn't my first choice. But I've looked through all the research, and there was no other way to punish him for what he did to those girls. Do you understand? I know what I've done can't be forgiven, but there was no other way."

"What?!"

"Bruss admitted. We went under so many times to talk to him about what he did. He confessed to everything, every horrible thought and action and feeling. It was disgusting," Ariadne said, jaw clenched tight and eyes nearly watering. "It was ugly, Eames. Like any other abuser or pedophile that the VCU or Sex Crimes Unit has to deal with. He knew what he was doing to them, justified it to himself as the girls _asking_ for it."

"Ariadne..."

"No, wait. Listen," she said, holding up a hand. "It's got nothing to do with me, nothing to do with happened when I was a kid. That just makes me understand what the victims go through, but hearing it from him was different. He deserved to be punished. By the end, he begged me to do it. He wanted me to kill him, wanted me to put him out of his misery. He was an evil man, and I stopped that. Throwing him in prison, even if a jury would convict him, would never have stopped that because it wouldn't change him."

Eames covered his mouth as he simply looked at her. She didn't appear to enjoy the thought of killing someone, but it was the sadness over loss of life, not remorse for what she had done. The thought of her lighting into someone and carving into a chest made him feel vaguely ill. He watched her stand up slowly and seemed almost detached as she reached out to touch his arm gently. He thought of shaking her off, even if it would make her cry, but he kept his eyes on hers. They were _her_ eyes, that sharp mind still peeking out. Arthur hadn't changed that about her, whatever else he must have done.

"Did he hurt you?" he rasped, voice hoarse as if he had been screaming.

"Not the way you're thinking," Ariadne said, voice gentle. "It hurt to hear about this, to know I wasn't helping the way I really wanted to. It hurt to know that I was trapped by the system, that nothing I did really made a dent in things."

"Oh shit," Eames breathed, looking at her in horror. "You _love_ him."

"Yes, I do," she said simply, not hiding or lying. Eames didn't know if her honesty was better than a pretty lie would have been.

"Oh, God." That nausea in his stomach was worse now, and his chest felt like an empty, hollow thing. What was he supposed to do now?

Ariadne touched Eames' cheek and watched him flinch at her touch unhappily. "I didn't mean for it to happen, Eames, it just did."

"Ever hear of Stockholm Syndrome?"

She smiled mirthlessly. "Yeah, but that's not what this is."

Eames caught hold of her arm and pushed the sleeve up. The inside of her arm was riddled with fading marks from a PASIV. "Shit. How long have you been under?" He looked up at her with a pained expression. "How much time?"

"A long time," Ariadne said softly. She closed her other hand over his, her touch gentle and warm, reminding Eames that this was very, very real. "That's not why it's like this."

 

"He could've made you," Eames said almost desperately, eyes searching her face for any confirmation of his fears. "He could've done anything to you. Don't you get it? This isn't you. You're not a killer. That's not _you,_ Ariadne, it's not. I refuse to believe you've changed so much that you can kill someone in cold blood."

Her eyes flashed in anger and pain, and Eames felt like a heel. "I didn't enjoy it, Eames. Not... It's not like that. It was for justice," she said, eyes intent on his. Eames thought he was going to be ill. "Arthur didn't do anything to me that I didn't allow." She turned back and looked at him insistently. "I love him, Eames. He means the world to me."

"Did he have to build it for you, then?"

Ariadne dropped his arms and stepped back. "That's not fair, Eames."

"Do you think any of this is?" Eames returned, arms sweeping wide to encompass the boxes in the storeroom. "You're giving up your life here. For what? To chase a killer and get your jollies bringing others to heel? To have him in your bed? What the fuck, Ariadne? What did he say to you? What did he do to change your mind?"

There were tears shining in her eyes and Eames felt as though he had just ripped out his own heart. "You make it sound like this is easy to do, Eames."

"You don't look as though you're having a tough time of it, darling," Eames snapped, turning away and scrubbing at his face to hide his disappointment and tears. Fuck. It wasn't as if they were dating or shite like that. They had only been friends, but he had counted on her as one of a handful he could always trust. He had thought he could keep her safe, that of all the friends he had, she would be the one that would never be corrupted by the dreaming. He had never thought her beliefs could be twisted so thoroughly.

So much for his people skills.

Ariadne touched his arm and pulled him to face her. "I'm sorry," she whispered, eyes shining with unshed tears. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't want to hurt you."

"A knife in my chest would be kinder."

She reached up and caressed his cheek tenderly. "I feel the same way about leaving, but it has to be done."

"So that's it? Let them all think you're dead? Your poor Mum..."

"I visited her," Ariadne murmured. "She knows I'm alive, and that I'll be safe even if everyone needs to think I'm dead."

"Does she know Arthur's the Dream Killer?" Ariadne shook her head slowly. "So what do I say?"

"He's protecting me, hiding me so that no one knows where I'll be."

Eames snorted and looked away. "Just enough of the truth to make sense, then."

Ariadne pulled his face back to look at hers. "Don't look for me, either, Eames. Please."

"What makes you think I won't turn you in? Or your murderous boyfriend?"

She didn't even flinch at the venom in his words. "Because we're friends," she said in a quiet voice. "Because the world thinks I'm dead. Because... Because deep down, you know that they were horrible people that did horrible things that would never have been punished." Eames thought of the ADA's nephew, nasty little pedophile that he had been, but didn't want to agree with Ariadne. "I'm not saying what we're doing is right, but it's something that has to be done until they stop. They've already started slowing down. Even on higher levels of the network, they're aware of the consequences of their misbehavior. Things are changing. It can stop, and it won't always be like this."

"So it's like that? You go sailing off into the sunset to kill again and I'm left behind cleaning up the goddamn mess?"

Ariadne let her hand fall from his face. "I could... if you wanted... I could arrange to meet you, let you know I'm okay. Or help with things you need help with. Maybe I can earn your forgiveness," Ariadne murmured softly. She leaned up on her tip toes and kissed his stubbled cheek. It felt like the brushing of butterfly's wings. It was the kiss of a ghost, of someone who didn't exist anymore.

"Where do the lies end, Ariadne?" Eames rasped, looking at her pained expression. "Where does everything stop?"

"When it's over," Ariadne murmured softly, meeting his eyes head on. "I don't know how long that will be. Maybe when there are laws to protect dreamers from the dreams of others, when being in an illegal sleep lab doesn't mean you forfeit all your rights."

"It's not going to be that easy."

"No, it isn't. But I can still hope, can't I?"

Eames caught her hand tight as she turned to leave. "If he _ever..."_

Ariadne gave him a sad smile as his words were choked off. "He'd never hurt me. But if something happens, I know where to find you. I memorized your number." She paused and dug around into her pocket. "Here. I don't need these anymore." She handed him her keyring. It included her apartment keys, her car keys and the keys to the Hoover building. There were the usual keyring tags for pharmacies and grocery stores, as well as a tiny chess piece dangling from the ring. "The chess piece is a totem. I've never needed to use it, but maybe you can. Or you can just keep it to remember me by." She gave him a watery smile. "I wish things could have gone better, Eames, I really do."

"Yeah. Me, too," Eames said softly. He bent down to kiss her forehead, feeling almost as if this was forgiveness or absolution. He pulled back and saw the hope in her smile, and something seemed to shift and crack in his chest. "I'll miss you, Ariadne."

"Maybe I'll see you. How else can I get you to forgive me?"

He mirrored her sad, wistful smile. He couldn't wish her luck, exactly. It was already more than she deserved that he was letting her go without telling anyone. But he still cared for her, and the sharp, tangled feelings in his chest wouldn't let her leave without a final word. "Ariadne." She paused at the threshold of the storeroom door. "Take care, darling. I hope you don't regret what you're doing."

"I hope so, too."

Eames listened to the sound of her steps retreating and sat down on the box of books again. He blew out a ragged breath and grasped his head in his hands.

God, what was he supposed to do now?

"I'll take care of her, you know," Arthur said conversationally from the door. He was lounging against the frame, arms easily crossed and casual. He didn't seem to be bothered by this situation in the slightest. Eames leapt to his feet, wishing he had his gun with him. "I appreciate the thought on her behalf, but it really isn't necessary."

"You played us all for fools," Eames bit out, anger bleeding through into his tone.

"Yes, and no. You never asked me if I knew about the killer. You only asked about the Ghost Network." Arthur smiled, that chilling smile that had Eames' blood freezing in his veins. "I couldn't very well tell you about the intricacies in the Network, so I told you about the permissions I have as Arthur."

"Semantics, you piece of shite."

"True," Arthur allowed with a gracious smile. He was leaning lazily against the storeroom door, and Eames was suddenly very aware that Arthur could very well lock him in there and no one would find him for at least a day or two. "She wanted you to know she was all right. She wanted to say goodbye."

"What did you do to her?" Eames hissed.

"I opened her eyes to the truth. You haven't seen it yet, but you're firmly under the Crown's thumb. I don't expect you to." There was that smile again, and the hard look in his eyes that told Eames he was capable of many things Eames didn't want to think about. "You couldn't have kept her as safe as I will. The Embassy wouldn't let you, once they knew about her little gifts in the dreamscape. Isn't that why you haven't told them?"

Eames' mouth went dry and his heart thudded dully in his chest. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't," Arthur replied, lips twisting into a sardonic smile. "But I do know what the MI6 ask of you. And I know what happened in Mombassa." His entire expression hardened. "Did you really think I would allow her to be exposed to all of _that?"_

"She's a grown woman and a capable agent with the backing of an entire organization," Eames replied, bristling on Ariadne's behalf.

"Of course she is. And she'll never have to see that side of you." Arthur pushed himself off of the door frame and uncrossed his arms. "We'll update you, of course. You and her mother won't have to worry about her. She'll want for nothing."

"Is that your way of telling me not to look for her?"

Arthur paused, expression flat and lifeless. "You're a smart man, Eames. We could have been the same, if circumstances were different. I think you understand how things are, and how things will have to be." He gave Eames a sinister smirk. "I wouldn't want to upset Ariadne by disciplining you for crossing the line." He paused, half turning by the door. "You're very good at what you do, Inspector. I respect that. It's been a merry chase."

Eames swallowed as Arthur left, footsteps silent on the concrete floor of the basement. He heard the distinct closing of the outside door, and Eames leaned back against the boxes and sighed. He felt wrung out and old. He was tired and wanted to go home.

It was just as well Annalise knew and the FBI were shipping him back to England. He wouldn't know what to say to them.

***

To: Eames  
From: Ghost  
Subject: The Ghost Network

Congratulations, Eames. You will be granted a membership in the Ghost Network, though you will be unable to do more than view the boards available. This is on trial status. The only members you may PM are GNMod and Queen. This will be a secure means of messaging, and at all times will be unable to be traced.  
We look forward to communicating with you.

The End


End file.
